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dewdropdinosaur · 9 months ago

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Kinktober Day 21: Monsterfucking

Summary: You thought making your boyfriend jealous would end in your favor, and some would say it did. Lucifer full of jealously and adrenalive, fucking you feverntly into his mattress while in demon form sounds pretty good to you too. Warnings: P in V Sex, fingering, jealousy, possesiveness, sub/dom dynamics, mosterfucking, demon forms, etc. MDNI, 18+. You're responsible for your own media consumption. Kinktober Mention of the Day: @minkdelovely

Lucifer found himself in a rare mood—one that was neither light nor playful nor duck involved. He watched from the corner of the Hotel bar as Alastor, the Radio Demon, his sworn enemy, leaned in close to you, his laughter echoing with static in the air. Alastor’s sharp smile glinted like polished teeth, his voice smooth and teasing. "Oh, Y/N, darling! You are truly a marvel!," he said, his tone dripping with mischief.

Lucifer felt a twitch in his chest—a heat rising that was unfamiliar, yet unmistakable. Jealousy clawed at him, gnawing at his calm demeanor. How dare Alastor flirt so brazenly with his girlfriend? You giggled, a sound that felt like shards of glass in Lucifer's mind, and he clenched his jaw. That cute little giggle should be directed towards him and him alone.

"You know," Alastor continued, seemingly oblivious to the dark aura gathering around Lucifer, "I’ve always said a girl like you deserves a little excitement. Lucifer can be rather… dull sometimes."

The air crackled with tension, the mood shifting as Lucifer’s form began to shimmer, dark red eyes glowing and sending waves of red smoke swirling around him. His eyes glowed like embers, the familiar contours of his demon form creeping into view with his wings unfurling; towering and fierce. Jealously was a little green devil that he hated but by Hells, he wasn’t the sin of Pride to just not let his girlfriend been sullied by that god-forsaken mortal right in front of him.

“Alastor,” Lucifer said, his voice low and dangerous, “why don’t you find someone else to amuse yourself with? I’m sure there are plenty of other souls in Hell who would appreciate your… charm.”

You turned to Lucifer, and what started as confusion morfed into a mix of excitement and immediate arousal flooding your pants. You loved seeing this side of him, the protective, possessive nature that emerged when he felt threatened. “Lucifer, dear, we are just talking” you said lightly, but your smile held a hint of mischief. “Alastor’s just teasing.”

“Oh, but Lucifer,” Alastor chirped, unfazed, “you must admit, a little attention never hurt anyone, mhm?”

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor summoned a crackling radio transmission, playing a chaotic tune that seemed to mock the situation. The sound danced through the air, and he leaned even closer to you, an unabashedly charming smile gracing his features. Lucifer's patience wore thin, and with a growl, he stepped forward, his demon form radiating dark energy. “I don’t recall inviting you to play games with my girlfriend, Alastor,” he said, his voice a smooth, dangerous whisper.

You, caught between the two powerful demons, found the situation thrilling. The tension sparked in the air, making your heart race. “Lucifer, maybe we should just let Alastor have his fun?” you suggested, half-teasing, eyes sparkling with excitement. If all went according to you and Alastor’s plan, this was headed right where you wanted…Lucifer's glare turned from Alastor to you confusion and frustration mixing with something deeper—desire.

“You think this is fun?” he asked, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice.

“Not in the way you think,” you replied, stepping closer, gaze unwavering. “But I do think it’s… hot when you get all worked up.” You ran a finger down the lapels of his suit jacket, his horns shrinking slightly at the touch and wings softening.

With a deep breath, Lucifer glanced at you, then back to Alastor, his voice steady but filled with an intensity that made you heart skip. “Just remember, Alastor, there are consequences for crossing me.” With a sudden snap, both you and your demon boyfriend were teleported away from the red and cackling radio demon into the sanctuary that was Lucifer’s room. The door’s lock rang out with a defined click and soon towering before you, Lucifer’s bright red and angry eyes bored into yours.

“Mind explaining what that was about?” His tone was laced with frustration but you could tell what was underneath, confusion, fear, and adrenaline. A soft smirk came to grace your features as you sauntered toward him, hands laying gracefully on his chest. Your fingers came to trace one of his horns delicately, reveling in the shiver that past through he body beneath your touch.

“I may have entreated Alastor to help me rile you up.” Your voice was nothing short of confident, as if you plan had come to fruition. Which it had. Lucifer’s eyes shone with confusion, his eyes momentarily flashing back to their beautiful original color as his lips formed a small pout.

“You wanted me to be annoyed?’

“Not annoyed, per se. More…jealous and wanting to fuck me while you are big and powerful.”

Now that was a statement if he had ever heard one. Did he hear you right, were his ears decieving him? By Heaven, he hoped not. A ravenous sneer bloomed on Lucifer’s face, his eyes and body once again resuming his full demonic state. With a flash of white and red, the King of Hell pinned you against the headboard of his mattress. Your hands now sat pinned and body pliant to the whims and wishes of the fully demonic figure that hovered above you. And Hells, did it make you horny. Heart racing, body quivering with anticipation, every nerve seemed to sparkle with desire at the scene that played out before you.

“So you want me to fuck you, ducky? Want me to throw you around like the little slut you are?” With quick and rapid nods, he had his answer as you writhed below him. He could smell you, how soaked you were. That damp spot on your pants did little to hide salaciousness of your thoughts and needs. Bringing a clawed finger to rip down the waistband of your pants, the fabric tore at the seams off your skin. Choking back a breath at the flash of cool air that rushed towards your panty-clad cunt, you shiver with delight as he ran a knuckle across your slit.

“Oh, you really want this don’t you? Have barely touched you and you’re already a mess for me.” A lewd mewl passes your lips as Lucifer peeled the panties off your body, the fabric came off with an agonizing of squish of heavy damp slick. Wasting no time on formal foreplay, your body clearly ready and willing, Lucifer sank two fingers into your weeping pussy and started to scissor you wide. Plunging his large and deft fingers in and out of you, your body became lost in the erotic rapture of your senses.

You could feel his touch everywhere. One hand digging into your hips, his mouth leaving sloppy kisses on the valley of your neck, and the other hand knuckle deep inside you in such a way you felt you mind explode. The feeling of fullness was almost an impossible feeling to describe, an ardent need as close as you could think. There he towered over you, the soft outline of his toned chest peaking through the few buttons that had come undone from his top in the frenzy of fervent activity that was occuring. His face was laced with a carnal grin, clearly lost in the rhasposdy that was playing out. He looked so angelic like this, despite his forminable appearance. Eyes shinning with ectasy, lips parted and panting, ripe for you to slip your tongue into if you weren’t getting fingered till you saw stars. He was the stars of Heaven to your mortal form, gazing upon his power and gracefullness as you laid bare and ready to worship the alter of his every desire. How faiithfully you would serve, dutifully his Hellish preist.

The thoughts swam in your head, imagining all the ways you based and mortal soul could only but be of service to the King that hovered before you. But your Heavenly escapdes were quickly brought down the sinful indulgence of the present as Lucifer curled his fingers up into you, massaging that perfect point on the front wall of your cunt racking your body with pleasure.

“So sweet for me, such a precious little whore. You wanted to get fucked by the big bad King of Hell? Well, your wish is my command.”

Removing his fingers with a swift motion, leaving you no reprieve, he sunk his heady and heavy cock into you with one deft motion. Both of you moaning both at the sight and feeling, the delicious yet somewhat burning friction that both of you so desperately craved. Slowly thrusting, taking his time to draw out every noise, he relished in the sight below him. All laid out and pretty, moaning and writhing in pleasure all because of him, his power. How you had planned all of this just for him. You were truly such a loyal little sinner, so obedient and ready for him. After Lillith, he thought his life was crumbling, ready to end his own immortal exsistence. But there you came, waltzing into his life like you owned his soul and now here you were, eager and willing for him in every way he never thought possible. The thoughts alone nearly had Lucifer busting inside you, mumbling incoherently as he picked up the pace, driving deeper, the walls of your cunt squeezing onto him for dear life. The added weight and pace was becoming nearly too much.

“Go on Ducky. Tell me….tell me how good I feel….”

“Fuck, good, so fucking good—” Sobs of pleasure racked your body, cute and plush face stained with streak of tears that Lucifer bent down to lick gently off your face. You can feel your release barreling towards you with a unrecognized speed. Maybe it was all the build up of this moment; how long you had imagined this very thing or maybe it is just that good, you’ll never know. But Lucifer knows your body like it’s his and it is. Where to drive, the right spot to hit every time that had the pressure building and building till you felt the coil in your stomach snap as you cry you lover’s name.

Gasping for air, you peeked your head up as you calmed down, only to see Lucifer’s eyes completely dialated and black; staring at the way your body soaked up his seed. He did not move, admiring the full indent in your stomach as your body greedily swallowed his cock and cum, Heavens, he prayed it would take.

“So ducky, feel like riling me up again anytime soon?”

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literaryvein-reblogs · 18 days ago

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Some Health-related Vocabulary

for your next poem/story

Ache - a usually dull persistent pain

Allergy - altered bodily reactivity (such as hypersensitivity) to an antigen in response to a first exposure

Antihistamine - any of various compounds that counteract histamine in the body and that are used for treating allergic reactions (such as hay fever) and cold symptoms

Appetite - any of the instinctive desires necessary to keep up organic life, especially: the desire to eat

Aspirin - a white crystalline derivative C9H8O4 of salicylic acid used for relief of pain and fever

Bandage - a strip of fabric used especially to cover, dress, and bind up wounds

Blood - the fluid that circulates in the heart, arteries, capillaries, and veins of a vertebrate animal carrying nourishment and oxygen to and bringing away waste products from all parts of the body

Bronchitis - acute or chronic inflammation of the bronchial tubes

Bruise - an injury involving rupture of small blood vessels and discoloration without a break in the overlying skin; contusion

Cast - a rigid casing (as of fiberglass or of gauze impregnated with plaster of paris) used for immobilizing a usually diseased or broken part

Cold - a bodily disorder popularly associated with chilling, specifically: common cold

Contagious - transmissible by direct or indirect contact with an infected person

Cough - a sudden, sharp-sounding expulsion of air from the lungs acting as a protective mechanism to clear the air passages or as a symptom of pulmonary disturbance

Crutch - a support typically fitting under the armpit for use by the disabled in walking

Decongestant - an agent that relieves congestion (as of mucous membranes)

Diarrhea - abnormally frequent intestinal evacuations with more or less fluid stools

Dizzy - having a whirling sensation in the head with a tendency to fall

Fever - a rise of body temperature above the normal

First aid - emergency care or treatment given to an ill or injured person before regular medical aid can be obtained

Flu - influenza; any of several virus diseases marked especially by respiratory or intestinal symptoms

Hives - an allergic disorder marked by raised edematous patches of skin or mucous membrane and usually intense itching and caused by contact with a specific precipitating factor (such as a food, drug, or inhalant) either externally or internally; called also urticaria

Indigestion - a case or attack of indigestion marked especially by a burning sensation or discomfort in the upper abdomen

Infection - the state produced by the establishment of one or more pathogenic agents (such as a bacteria, protozoans, or viruses) in or on the body of a suitable host

Influenza - an acute, highly contagious, respiratory disease caused by any of three orthomyxoviruses

Injection - an act or instance of injecting i.e., to force a fluid into (as for medical purposes)

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or send me a link. I would love to read them!

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

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atlasthegreatest · 8 months ago

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Breaking the Chains / Natasha Romanoff x Brother!Male Reader

Which, the Avengers embark on a mission to dismantle a sinister facility—a male version of the Red Room, designed to turn young men into weapons. Natasha Romanoff leads the charge, determined to save her younger brother— Y/n, who has been trapped in this program for years.

Word count: 2191

Warnings: PTSD. Red Room.

A/n: This was requested by an anon. I hope you like it!

The facility was crumbling around them, fire and dust mixing into the heavy air. The sounds of gunfire and explosions echoed in the background, but Natasha Romanoff’s focus was singular. Her feet moved with purpose as she scanned the darkened hallway. She knew what to look for—the same signs she once wore on her face and carried in her posture.

In this mission, the Avengers were not after weapons or secrets. They were after people—boys who had been subjected to something eerily familiar to Natasha. A male counterpart to the Red Room, hidden deep in the underbelly of the world. They had lived in the shadows for years, unnoticed, until an intercepted transmission tipped the Avengers off to the existence of this twisted program.

She pushed through the shattered remnants of a metal door and stepped into a cold, dimly lit cell block. A dozen pairs of frightened eyes met hers, boys barely in their teens and men no older than twenty-five.

Natasha scanned each face until she found the one she had been looking for: Y/n.

He sat huddled in the far corner of the cell, knees drawn to his chest, body folded in on itself as if trying to disappear into the cracked concrete wall behind him. His clothes hung loosely from his thin frame, and his hands trembled as they gripped his knees.

“Hey,” Natasha whispered, kneeling in front of him.

At first, Y/n didn’t respond. The years of training had taught him to suppress everything—fear, trust, and hope. But when he finally lifted his gaze, recognition flickered in his eyes. Y/n knew her, though not personally. She had been the ghost story among the instructors. The Black Widow—traitor to the cause, the one who escaped.

“I’ve got you,” Natasha said gently, her gloved hand hovering over Y/n's but not touching, waiting for him to make the first move. “We’re getting you out of here.”

Y/n flinched slightly at the sound of her voice but didn’t pull away when she rested a hand lightly on his arm. Her touch was steady—grounding.

“It’s over,” she said, her voice low and sure, like an unbreakable promise. “No more orders. No more missions.”

Y/n's lips parted, but no words came out. It was hard to believe it was real after everything. Freedom was a foreign concept, a dream too fragile to trust. But Natasha didn’t rush him. She crouched there, keeping her voice steady and calm as the chaos raged behind her.

“I know it’s scary,” she admitted. “But you’re not alone anymore. I’m here, and so are the others.”

When he didn’t resist, Natasha helped him to his feet. Y/n was shaky, each step slow, as if his body had forgotten what it was like to move without orders directing his every action. Natasha kept a careful hold on her arm—not tight, just enough to remind him she was there.

Together, they made their way through the collapsing facility, the flickering lights casting erratic shadows on the walls. Outside, the Avengers had cleared the area, and a Quinjet waited, its ramp lowered. Steve Rogers gave a tight nod to Natasha as she guided Y/n aboard, but the others knew better than to approach.

Natasha’s expression warned them all: Give him space.

————————-

The Avengers’ compound was vast, bright, and open—everything the cold, sterile facility had not been. But for Y/n, it was too much. Too big, too noisy, too unfamiliar.

Y/n rarely left the room they had set up for him, and when he did, it was always with Natasha at his side. The others tried to welcome him gently—Bruce offered books, Steve always nodded with quiet reassurance, and even Tony kept his quips subdued. But it was Natasha who knew how to reach him, because she had been where he was.

She didn’t push. When the others asked too many questions, Natasha would step in, redirecting the conversation with a subtle ease. She became Y/n's anchor, a quiet, constant presence that didn’t demand anything from him.

At night, when the nightmares came—and they always did—Natasha was there. The first time Y/n woke up gasping, covered in cold sweat, he thought she might be angry at being disturbed. But instead, she sat on the edge of his bed, her voice calm and low.

“Breathe,” she whispered. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

When Y/n couldn’t sleep, she stayed up with him. Some nights, she talked about her own past, sharing bits and pieces she thought he might understand. Other nights, the two of them sat in silence, watching the night bleed into dawn.

She never asked him to talk about what happened—not until Y/n was ready.

————————-

It was weeks before Y/n said more than a few words at a time. The trauma ran deep, and trust was a hard-earned currency. But Natasha noticed the small changes. The way he started sitting with the others in the common room, though he always kept a little distance. The way his gaze softened when Sam told a joke or when Clint teased him about beating him at chess.

One afternoon, while sitting with Natasha on the balcony, Y/n surprised himself by speaking.

“They made us fight each other,” He said quietly, his voice brittle and uneven. “If you won, you got food. If you lost… you didn’t.”

Natasha didn’t flinch. She just nodded, her gaze steady. “I know.”

“They told us it made us stronger,” he added, bitterness creeping into his tone. “Made us perfect.”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “They were wrong.”

For a moment, Y/n looked out over the horizon, the sky painted in hues of gold and pink. He felt the weight of her words settle in his chest—not just the words, but the way she said them, with the conviction of someone who knew exactly what he’d been through.

“You’re not what they made you,” Natasha said softly. “You’re more than that.”

Y/n swallowed hard, emotions swelling in his throat, but for the first time in years, he didn’t feel the need to shove them down. Natasha’s presence was a reminder that he didn’t have to carry everything alone.

————————-

Day by day, the Avengers helped Y/n find pieces of himself that he thought had been lost forever. Steve taught him how to cook—simple things, like pancakes and scrambled eggs. Sam dragged him into a movie marathon, making Y/n laugh for the first time in what felt like forever.

And Natasha? Natasha stayed by his side through all of it, giving him the space to heal at his own pace.

One evening, after a quiet dinner with the team, Y/n found yourself sitting beside Natasha on the couch, Clint sprawled out on the floor in front of them.

“See?” Natasha said, nudging Y/n's shoulder lightly. “They’re not so bad.”

Y/n gave a small, tentative smile. It felt strange on his face, but not unwelcome.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice soft but genuine. “They’re not.”

Natasha smiled too—gentle, patient, and proud. And for the first time in a long time, Y/n felt like maybe, just maybe, he belonged.

————————-

The Avengers became a rhythm—steady, sometimes chaotic, but reliable. Y/n was still learning how to navigate the whirl of personalities and noise, but Natasha was always a steady guide. She seemed to know exactly when to push and when to pull back, letting him stumble without ever letting him fall.

The nightmares didn’t stop, but Y/n got better at managing them. On nights when the darkness crept too close, he didn’t feel ashamed to knock softly on Natasha’s door. Sometimes, the two of them talked. Other times, Y/n sat quietly on the floor beside her bed until sleep returned. It didn’t matter—Natasha was patient, always patient.

But adjusting to life with the Avengers was harder than it looked from the outside. Even though they gave him space, their camaraderie felt foreign. Trusting them—really trusting them—was an uphill battle, but Natasha reassured him that it was okay to take his time.

“You don’t have to be anyone other than yourself,” she had said. “They’ll wait.”

————————-

It was Sam who cracked Y/n's defenses first, though it took him weeks of gentle persistence. He had a way of being both laid-back and direct, not giving him much room to overthink. One afternoon, Y/n found himself sitting across from him at the compound’s kitchen island, awkwardly holding a controller as he taught Y/n how to play some old-school racing game.

“Don’t worry,” Sam grinned. “I’ll go easy on you.”

He didn’t. Y/n lost every race, but he didn’t mind. For once, losing didn’t come with consequences. Sam’s laugh was loud and infectious, and before Y/n realized it, he found himself chuckling along.

“See?” Sam said, nudging his shoulder lightly. “You’ve got a sense of humor in there somewhere.”

It was a small moment, but it was the first time Y/n’d felt… normal.

————————-

Training sessions with Steve Rogers were a different kind of therapy. He never barked orders or pushed Y/n beyond his limits. Instead, he treated each session like a lesson in self-control—teaching him to use his skills in ways that didn’t make him feel like a weapon.

“Strength is more than just force,” Steve would say. “It’s about knowing when not to fight.”

At first, it was hard to fight the reflex to be perfect, to push through every ache and bruise just to meet some invisible standard. But Steve never expected perfection. If Y/n faltered, he’d just nod and say, “Good. Now let’s try that again.”

One day, after a sparring match, Y/n hesitated as Steve packed up the training mats. “Thanks,” he muttered, the word feeling foreign but genuine.

Steve gave him that easy, reassuring smile of his. “Anytime.”

————————-

It was during one of Tony’s infamous pizza nights that Y/n realized how far he’d come. The team gathered in the common room, laughing and teasing each other over slices of greasy pepperoni. Y/n sat between Natasha and Clint, feeling oddly at ease even though he hadn’t said much all night.

At some point, Tony tried to rope him into a debate about who the best James Bond was. Y/n blinked, unsure if he was joking or not.

“C’mon, kid,” Tony said, grinning. “Tell me you’ve got an opinion on this. You have to.”

Before he could answer, Natasha smirked. “He’s still deciding if he likes any of us, Stark. Don’t scare him off with your movie rants.”

The team burst out laughing, and to Y/n's surprise, he found himself grinning too. Not because he had to, but because it felt right.

Natasha glanced at her brother from the corner of her eye, her expression soft and knowing. She didn’t say anything, but her small smile told him she was proud—and she realized he was too.

Bonus chapter:

Not every day was easy. Some mornings, the weight of the past dragged Y/n down like lead in his chest. Y/n still flinched at unexpected noises. Some nights, the nightmares left him breathless and paralyzed. But with Natasha, it didn’t feel like he had to face it alone.

One particularly bad night, Y/n couldn’t keep it all bottled up anymore. It was late—well past midnight—when the panic took over. Y/n found himself in Natasha’s room, pacing back and forth as he tried to control his breathing.

“They made us hurt each other,” he whispered, the words tumbling out faster than he could stop them. “Every day, every mission. If you hesitated, they punished you. They—”

Y/n's voice cracked, and he clenched his fists, furious at himself for breaking down. But Natasha didn’t look at Y/n with pity. She stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

“They wanted you to believe it was the only way,” Natasha said softly. “But it’s not.”

The anger, the shame, the guilt—it all poured out in a rush, and Natasha let him feel every bit of it without judgment. When Y/n finally sank to the floor, exhausted and drained, she sat beside him.

“You’re not what they made you,” she repeated gently. “And you’re not alone.”

————————-

Months passed, and slowly, Y/n found himself carving out a place among the Avengers. It wasn’t perfect—he still had hard days, and some wounds ran too deep to ever fully heal. But he was learning that it was okay to not be okay all the time.

Natasha stayed close, always ready to catch him if he stumbled. But she also gave him room to grow. Y/n started spending more time with the others—training with Steve, playing video games with Sam, and even laughing at Tony’s terrible jokes. They weren’t just teammates anymore. They were friends.

And one day, as the team gathered for another chaotic dinner, Y/n realized something that hit him harder than any punch he’d ever taken: he wasn’t just surviving. He was living.

The thought was strange, almost surreal, but when Natasha met his gaze across the table and gave him a subtle, knowing nod, Y/n knew it was real.

He was home.

Any grammar mistakes will be fixed later

#mcu #natasha romanoff x reader #male reader #sibling angst #steve rogers #tony stark #clint barton #thor odinson #bruce banner #wanda maximoff

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saturnsag3 · 2 months ago

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I Can Go the Distance - will smith x macklin celebrini

summary: they say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but Will never asked his heart to be stretched across 2,500 miles.

wc: 2,998

Boston in November was brutal. Gray skies hung low over the city, biting wind howled between buildings, and the Charles River looked like it had lost the will to move. It matched Will’s mood almost too well. Mornings at BU meant lectures in worn-down halls, coffee that tasted like it was brewed out of pure bitterness, and professors who loved the sound of their own voices. Afternoons blurred into study groups and phone calls with his mom and way too many texts from Toff about fantasy hockey.

But nights—nights were the worst.

That’s when he missed Macklin the most.

That’s when he could still feel the soft weight of summer. Of sun-warmed skin and Macklin’s laugh when they snuck into that abandoned lighthouse on the coast. Of late-night drives with Katy Perry blasting too loud and Mack’s hand in his, thumb brushing over his knuckles like he was reading braille.

Four months. Four months since they’d last touched. Since they stood outside the security gate at the airport, hugging like the world was ending and neither of them had the right words. Will remembered the way Mack’s hands had trembled on the nape of his neck. The way he kissed him long and hard before reluctantly walking away and boarding his plane.

They’d promised to visit by October. But October turned into a stress spiral. Midterms for Will. Labs and lectures for Mack. Prices soared. Timing sucked. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into aching, sleepless nights.

Will didn’t know how to say “I miss you” anymore without it sounding like “I’m breaking.”

But then—Thursday night.

He was lying in his dorm, blanket pulled up to his chest, textbook open but abandoned, when Macklin posted a story on Snapchat. There he was, clad in a UW pullover that was a smidge too big for him, reading glasses perched on his nose, hand to his chin. The caption read:

“missing my bf so bad rn.”

Will stared at it like it was a transmission from another universe.

And just like that, something clicked. He picked up his phone, opened his group chat with Toff and Ekky, and sent one message:

need ur help. I wanna surprise mack.

---

“Dude, you’re serious?” Toff said the next morning over FaceTime, his messy dorm hair sticking in all directions.

“Dead serious,” Will said. “I actually can’t do this anymore. I’ll fail my physics test before I go another week without seeing him.”

Ekky appeared in the call wearing his usual oversized hoodie and a backwards hat. “We’re in. I’m always down to support you and Mack’s gay shit.”

This pulled a chuckle and a roll of his eyes out of Will while Toff rubbed his hands together like some frat boy evil genius. “We’re talking a full-blown surprise? Like hide-in-the-closet level surprise?”

“Hide-in-the-closet sounds like I’m breaking in,” Will muttered. “I was thinking I just show up at his door. Maybe bring him flowers.”

Ekky snorted. “Bro. You’re flying six hours. Go big or go home.”

Will grinned, heart thudding. “Okay. okay, I’ll go big.”

They planned fast. Toff got Mack’s roommate out of the room for the weekend—claiming he needed help with a group project. Ekky booked Will a red-eye flight using points his mom gifted him last Christmas. They scouted Mack’s schedule, down to the minute, to find the perfect window.

Will barely slept Friday night. His suitcase was small, but his nerves were colossal. He kept playing out the scene in his head: Mack opening the door. Mack's face. The tears, maybe. The kiss. The warmth.

It felt like reaching for oxygen after drowning.

---

Seattle hit Will like a breath of fresh, rainy air. He stepped off the plane and smelled pine, coffee, and home. Toff picked him up with a grin and a half-eaten bagel, blasting Coldplay from the speakers just to mess with him.

“Ready to destroy your boyfriend emotionally?” Toff asked as they pulled into the UW campus.

“Please never say that again,” Will said, clutching his duffel.

“I meant in a good way!”

“Okay- yes. Let’s do this.”

Macklin’s dorm was exactly as Will had imagined: beige walls, loud voices echoing down the hall, that particular college smell—part Axe body spray, part takeout. Will’s heart pounded with every step.

Toff stopped outside Room 503. “I checked—he’s in there. Probably working on his econ paper. You’ve got the floor.”

Will gave a breathless laugh, nerves buzzing. “Thanks, man.”

Toff pulled him into a quick hug. “Make him cry.”

Will knocked twice.

---

The door creaked open.

Macklin stood in front of him, barefoot, wearing plaid pajama pants and a hoodie Will had left behind last summer. His hair was mussed. His eyes widened slowly, disbelief washing over his face like a rising tide.

“Smitty?”

Will swallowed the lump in his throat. “Hi.”

Macklin’s mouth opened, closed. He blinked once, twice—then stepped forward so fast that Will barely had time to drop his bag before Mack was there, arms around him, face pressed into his neck.

“You’re not real,” Mack whispered, voice cracking. “This isn’t real.”

Will hugged him tight. “I’m real. I’m here, baby. Surprise.”

Macklin broke. Tears streaked silently down his cheeks as he pulled back just enough to look at Will’s face. His hands trembled as they cupped Will’s jaw before brushing all over his face.

“You flew here?” he whispered.

Will nodded. “Six hours. Red-eye. Toff and Ekky helped. I saw your story— couldn’t wait anymore.”

Macklin let out a watery laugh, brushing his thumbs across Will’s cheeks. “God, I love you.”

Will kissed him.

Soft. Long. Like pressing the pause button on the universe.

When they finally pulled apart, Mack wiped at his face with a sheepish smile. “I didn’t think I was gonna be the one crying.”

Will grinned. “I was counting on it.”

---

They spent the afternoon doing absolutely nothing, which somehow felt like everything.

They curled up on Macklin’s narrow dorm bed, Will’s legs tangled in Mack’s, heads on the same pillow. Mack showed him the view out his window—trees and rooftops and the misty blur of mountains in the distance.

“You see that corner right there?” Mack pointed. “That’s where I FaceTime you from.”

Will looked. “It’s cuter in person.”

Mack rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

Will laughed and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I missed your face.”

“I missed you,” Mack said, quieter now. “Like, physically missed you. Like my body kept looking for you in the dark. I couldn’t sleep. I tried your cologne on my pillow and it just made it worse.”

Will nodded, throat tight. “I know. Me too.”

They talked until sunset about everything and nothing: classes, professors, late-night cravings, songs that reminded them of each other. Will shared a playlist he’d been quietly building since September. Macklin pulled out the sketchbook where he’d doodled little comics of them as stick figures, wandering campuses side by side.

Will traced one with his finger. “Is this… me on a moose?”

Mack looked proud. “It’s your Canadian fantasy.”

Will laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bed.

---

Later that night, they walked hand-in-hand through the hushed, damp campus. Leaves clung to the pavement. Lights glowed in the windows of libraries and dorms. Seattle’s night air felt cleaner than Boston’s ever had.

“So,” Will said, nudging Macklin’s hip as they sat on a bench overlooking Red Square, “when are we doing this again?”

Mack leaned his head on Will’s shoulder. “Next weekend? Tomorrow? You move in with me permanently and we drop out of college?”

“I like all of those options,” Will said, grinning. “Especially the drop-out one. So romantic. A little chaotic. Very us.”

Mack laughed. “Can’t wait to see you explain that to your physics professor. ‘Sorry, sir, couldn’t finish my midterm. Had to be gay across the country.’”

“He’d understand,” Will said. “He wears Crocs with knee high socks. That man knows heartbreak.”

Mack shifted to look up at him, eyes soft, even in the dark. “Seriously though. When do I get to see you again?”

Will sighed. “Winter break’s in six weeks. I could come out again before then though. We can plan it better next time. I won’t ambush your RA with flowers at 9 a.m.”

“Hey,” Mack said, mock-offended. “Don’t insult my RA. Hannah cried. She said it was the most romantic thing she’s ever seen. You have a fan club here now.”

Will smirked. “Good. I deserve that.”

“You do,” Mack murmured, tracing small circles on Will’s knee. “You flew six hours just to see my dumb face.”

“I flew six hours to see your dumb everything,” Will corrected. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Mack snorted. “Okay, poet. Calm down before you propose under this tree.”

Will shrugged. “Don’t tempt me. I’ll do it with a vending machine ring and no hesitation.”

Mack covered his face with both hands, laughing. “Jesus. You’re dangerous.”

“I’m sincere!”

“You’re dangerously sincere.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, but it was easy. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that spoke in its own language.

Will bumped Mack’s shoulder gently. “Come to Boston next time?”

Mack peeked out from behind his hands. “You want me to meet your roommates?”

“They already know everything about you,” Will said. “They call you ‘The Mack’ like you’re a legend.”

“I am a legend.”

“You’re a legend who once fell off a paddleboard and yelled, ‘My Crocs!’ before hitting the water.”

“And the Crocs floated, thank you very much,” Mack said, poking Will’s side. “I’m a pioneer in water-resistant fashion.”

Will leaned closer, their foreheads touching. “So that’s a yes?”

Mack smiled. “It’s a hell yes. You’ll have to fight my chem lab partner for time off, though. She gets weirdly possessive during titrations.”

Will laughed, lips brushing against Mack’s. “Tell her you have a chemistry emergency in Boston. Romantic combustion.”

“Wow,” Mack said. “Even my professor would groan at that one.”

“Tell me you didn’t love it.”

“I loved it,” Mack admitted, kissing him slow and sweet.

---

Later, back in the dorm, Macklin curled against Will under a too-thin blanket, the glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows on the wall.

“Do you think we’ll always do this?” Mack asked. “Chase each other across the country?”

Will tucked his chin against Mack’s hair. “Maybe. Or maybe we’ll finally end up in the same place. You, me, a terrible apartment, and a couch that’s more duct tape than cushion.”

“With a cat named... I dunno. Business.”

“Business?”

“Yeah. So when people ask what we’re doing tonight, we can say ‘sorry, we’ve got Business.’”

Will cackled. “I’m in love with you.”

“You’re stuck with me,” Mack said sleepily. “Even if I never get better at naming cats.”

Will kissed the top of his head. “Especially then.”

There was a pause.

“I’m gonna cry again,” Mack warned.

Will pulled him tighter. “That’s fine. I’ll hold you every time.”

Mack whispered, “Next time you visit, bring a hoodie I can steal.”

“You already stole my hoodie, baby.”

“I need more. I’m building a shrine.”

Will grinned into the pillow. “Obsessed with me.”

Mack grinned back. “Always.”

Will kissed him again. Longer this time. Slower.

The kind of kiss that stitched months back together.

That night, they didn’t fall asleep right away. They stayed up whispering under covers, giggling like they were seventeen again. Mack’s fingers found Will’s and didn’t let go once.

And in the morning, when sunlight filtered through the blinds, and Will blinked awake to find Macklin still tangled with him, still here, he thought and drifted right back to sleep.

sages thoughts⋆˙⟡: i’m a sucker for fluffy established willmack and I love writing it even more, also my requests should be open, send stuff, talk to me!

#hrpf #san jose sharks #will smith hockey #macklin celebrini #mlm #willmack

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jellesreid · 7 months ago

Text

Unveiled

In which Elle finally reveals the truth about her sexuality to one of her best friends, Derek Morgan and introduces her girlfriend (Fem OC) she’s been hiding from the team (fluff!)

masterlist

word count: 3.8k

tags: female oc, elle greenaway, delle friendship, jelle friendship, prentaway friendship, elle x female oc, lesbian elle greenaway, bisexual elle greenaway, coming out, sexuality, jemily, secrets, secret relationship, elle in love, wlw, wlw couple, wuhluhwuh, mentions of girls night and drinking, previous jelle kiss

no warnings

notes: I wanted to write Elle a coming out story for a while and I thought the best way to do it was including Derek as I love their friendship. I hope you enjoy, there is some fluffy couple stuff between Elle and the fem oc at the end. (I always send fics with I love yous pls sorry guys!)

—————————————————🩶——————————————————

Elle walked into the bullpen a few minutes late a smile on her face and a light blush on her cheeks. Heading over to her desk she greeted all of her team members in proximity to her with sweet-sounding ‘hello’s’ and ‘hi’s.’ She hung her black leather jacket over her chair and pushed her favourite black shoulder bag under the table with her foot.

“Morning Spence,” She grinned at him taking a file from the top of her pile and pulling out a pen from her desk that Penelope had gifted her on one of the days leading up to her 28th birthday.

“Elle you’re happy,” He checked his watch, “For 8:44 am, you hate mornings.”

“Not anymore, I had a great morning.”

“Coffee for the princess?” Derek asked bringing over the cup.

“Keep that for yourself, I had a cup. I’ll make myself some tea,” Elle said getting up and walking to the kitchenette with a spark in her step.

“What’s going on with her?” Emily whispered over to Derek.

He shrugged back, “I’ve not seen her this happy since… actually I’ve never seen her this happy.”

Elle leaned against the counter waiting for the kettle to boil, “Have we got a case today?” The question was more directed at Emily since she knew JJ would have told her about it already if they had one.

“Yeah but it’s local we should be done within the day,” Emily answered.

Elle finished making the tea and picked up the cup, “Oh great thanks.”

She placed the cup on her desk, took out her phone and sent a quick message.

A few seconds later her desk phone rang and she answered it almost immediately.

“Elle Greenaway speaking.”

The others couldn’t hear the other person on the phone but Elle was giggling almost the entire time and every so often would tell the other person she had to go but the conversation would continue. The call lasted 13 minutes before she hung up and went back to her file and sipping on her tea.

Half an hour later the phone rang again and Elle answered, “You’ve got to stop calling me. I’m a busy working woman.”

This time the call only lasted 6 minutes before she hung up and realised Derek was watching her.

“What?” She said typing some of the information from the file into her laptop.

“We’ve only been here an hour and you’ve had two calls.”

“And?” She asked still not looking over at him.

“You hate the phone, Elle,” Derek observed.

“I don’t hate the phone,” Elle rolled her eyes finally looking over at him.

“Actually you do,” Spencer spoke before continuing to ramble, “Hey did you know Alexander Graham Bell and Elisha Gray simultaneously invented electronic sound transmission devices? It came down to a race betwixt the two-“

“Yeah, and Bell beat Gray to the pattern office by a matter of hours. Common knowledge,” Elle finished.

“Why are you acting so weird?” Derek watched Elle’s body language as she leaned back in her chair turning to face him once again.

“We’re sitting with a guy who knows there are eight hundred kernels of corn on the average cob,” Elle started pointing at Spencer.

“Graded in sixteen separate rows,” Spencer finished not looking up from his laptop.

“And you’re calling me weird?” She pointed at herself a smile with a slight smirk now covering her face.

“You’re getting some loving aren’t y’a? You got a boyfriend,” Derek tried to profile her.

“You’re basing this on what exactly? The fact that I don’t like the phone? That’s all you’ve got, That’s your best? You’ve been a profiler for how long Derek and that is… that’s weak, that’s weak.”

“What’s weak?” JJ asked walking into the room, Elle’s eyes following her and she began to walk past.

“Derek thinks Elle has a boyfriend,” Spencer said but Elle quickly interrupted him.

“Nothing,” she said, she and Emily getting up to follow her to the round table.

“Nothing, see you just denied it,” Derek said getting up to follow them.

“And do you?” JJ asked in a slightly teasing tone.

“It’s more fun not to answer that question.”

“That right there is a yes baby. I knew it. I told you,” Derek said catching up to the women and Spencer who was following closely behind them.

“She didn’t really admit to anything man,” Spencer added.

“Thank you,” Elle glanced at Emily who was looking at her with a knowing look which JJ didn’t pick up on when she looked between them both.

“Reid trust me you’ve got a lot to learn,” Derek said as they walked into the room taking their seats at the round table.

——————

JJ presented the case of a serial killer who drowned his victims in motels. Since it was local Garcia was able to search for some leads from the police department while the team were getting the brief.

“Reid, Prentiss. You check out the first motel and see if anyone that fits the profile has been seen there. Greenaway, Morgan check out the second location. The rest is us will stay at the department, Garcia continue to track credit cards,” Hotchner ordered.

Elle and Morgan separated from the team, Elle drove to the location and after both speaking to receptionists on different shifts they discovered the unsub hadn’t been to this motel yet. They waited in the motel car park in case this was where he would bring his next victim.

“So,” Derek bit into his burger, “Whose the boyfriend?”

Elle sighs, “There isn’t one.”

“Princess I’m not stupid, I can tell by that smile,” Derek took one of her fries.

“Oh really?” Elle laughs, “I think you are.”

Elle’s phone rings but this time she doesn’t answer. She types out a message to whomever she’s been texting and calling all morning before looking back at Derek.

“You’re blushing! Why won’t you tell me?”

“It’s more fun that you keep guessing,” Elle shrugged.

Derek looked out of the car window silent for a few seconds, “Is it a woman?”

Elle didn’t answer, she’d never heard someone actually ask her that before. She dated a popular girl in college so they kept things private and she knew Emily knew she had a girlfriend now because she had exceptional gaydar.. and she had seen them together once in the parking lot after work but she had never asked questions.

“Elle? I asked you if it is a woman?” Derek repeated then thought about it, “No you totally had a crush on me at the start it can’t be.”

Elle snapped out of her thoughts, “In your dreams. I did not have a crush on you.”

“You didn’t?” Derek looked slightly puzzled.

“You asked me out on a date, I said no,” Elle reminded him.

“I thought you were playing hard to get. Maybe I should have known you didn’t like me, your eyes were always glued to JJ when she walked into a room.”

Elle choked on a fry, “What are you talking about? No, they weren’t.”

“They were baby girl, you may not know you like women but your eyes don’t lie. You had a crush on JJ.”

Elle rolled her eyes, “I know I like women but I didn’t have a crush on JJ at least not a big one. Okay, we kissed once but then Emily came along and stuff happens… and I’ve said far too much.”

“Woah woah back up what?” Derek’s eyes were wide.

“What part?” Elle gave him a shy smile.

“All of it? I’m not shocked that you like women, but JJ? You kissed her?”

“Derek you’re a gossip, but yes we were having a girl's night and we kissed,” Elle shrugged.

“And that’s how you realised?”

“No, I knew before JJ, I had a girlfriend in college.”

“No kidding, isn’t Penelope at girls night?” Derek tilted his head confused, if Penelope saw she would have said something to him he thought.

“Yeah she was sleeping, well we thought she was sleeping but she was all giggly around us both for a few days. I’m surprised she didn’t say anything.”

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me,” Derek pouted causing Elle to laugh.

As Elle was about to reply she looked out of the car window catching a glimpse of a man that fit the description of the man they were looking for.

Once they caught him, they made their way back to the unit meeting JJ, Hotch, Emily, Spencer, Gideon and Rossi before heading back up to the bullpen.

In the elevator Elle rode with Emily, Derek and JJ there was silence that seemed rather awkward to Elle but that was probably because of what she had just discussed with Derek.

“Are we going to the gym after work?” Elle asked Derek.

“You want to? I thought you couldn’t wait to get out of here,” Derek wiggled his eyebrows at the end of his sentence.

“I don’t have plans until 6:30 pm so I’ll have time to kill and I want to talk to you,” Elle fiddled with her sleeve.

“What are you doing later?” JJ asked, she wasn’t nosey but she was curious Elle didn’t usually have plans with anyone unless she was seeing her and Emily or Penelope and Derek. She liked spending the evenings at home with her cat and a book or case file.

“Just someone I’ve been on a couple of dates with,” Elle lied, she had been with her girlfriend for a few months but they didn’t know that, well Emily knew. Elle was thankful Emily hadn’t told her girlfriend.

“Don’t bother asking her questions she won’t answer any,” Derek told the blonde.

The elevator doors opened and each of them exited. Elle and Emily last to exit since JJ had gone ahead with Derek so Emily took the chance to talk to Elle.

“Do you plan on telling them?”

“I will soon, things are just really good right now I don’t want it to change.”

“Elle if she’s right for you things won’t change based on whether or not people know. I’m not sure what happened in your last relationships but they don’t define this one,” Emily smiled.

“Will you and JJ still be here at 6:30 if so maybe you could leave off at that time? She’s coming to pick me up I wouldn’t mind you guys meeting her.”

“Yeah, we can do that,” she and Emily separated to their desks.

Both she and Derek did one case file and Elle put the rest into her bag to look over at home, Derek of course left his on his desk.

He walked over to Elle’s desk and picked up her bag for her as well as wrapped an arm around her waist, “Shall we get going, princess.”

“Hey Derek if Elle really does have a boyfriend he would not like you right now,” Spencer said noticing Derek’s ‘flirting.’

“Jealous that I flirt with all the ladies pretty boy?”

“Leave him alone,” Elle slapped Derek’s arm before saying bye to her co-workers and leaving to go to the gym with Derek.

——————

Elle came through in her usual black sports bra and leggings and Derek was opposite her in a muscle-fit t-shirt and shorts, “So what did you want to talk about?”

“Nope. One round, talk and then another round,” Elle demanded.

“Fine by me,” Derek held up his hands in a surrender position.

“Be prepared to have your ass kicked Morgan,” she gave him a grin.

Morgan won the first round but Elle had put up a good run they lasted 22 minutes sparing with each other. She knew she’d definitely win the next round.

The brunette took a seat on the bench taking a sip of her water and fanning herself to lessen the small sweat she had worked up.

Elle didn’t wait for Derek to ask her again or she might not even tell him she liked to be in control of when she did things, “I think I’m a lesbian,” she blurted.

“You’ve got to stop doing that today how many times are you going to blurt things out to me,” Derek rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Elle crossed her arms.

“What do you mean, you think?” Derek made eye contact with her.

“Well I’ve dated men, I’ve even slept with a couple in the last year,” Elle said.

“And what did you think when you were doing that?”

Elle shrugged, “I wasn’t really thinking about it.”

“Okay, let’s try this then, do you find me attractive?”

“Seriously Derek,” Elle tilted her head to the side in annoyance.

“Just answer the question.”

“Fine, you’re somewhat attractive but no I wouldn’t sleep with you.”

“Interesting.”

“Derek I’m serious,” Elle sighed, “I prefer the women I’ve been with they are more attractive to me and I prefer having sex with them.”

“Then you might be a lesbian Elle,” Derek said.

“Might be?” Elle groaned, “Might be that’s where we started this conversation!”

“Why haven’t you spoken to Emily, she’s a lesbian and she dated men in the past before she realised.”

Elle shrugged, “Maybe I’m scared of the answer.”

“Deep down you know don’t you?” Derek gave her a sympathetic look, “Elle you know you’re a lesbian.”

Elle looked at the floor, “Yeah, it doesn’t change anything though, so I don’t know why I’m scared. It’s not like I’ve ever come out as something but now it’s different and it’s not like I’m with someone I don’t love because of that, I love Sofia.”

“Elle you can still feel scared about something just because it’s something that hasn’t changed for other people it’s still changed for you. Realising things can be scary. You thought you were bisexual since college? That’s a long time,” Derek moved closer to her on the bench.

“Since high school, not college.”

“So that’s over 10 years,” Derek lifted Elle’s chin so she would look at him. He knew why she put her head down, there were tears in her eyes and she would never let herself cry in front of anyone, “It’s okay I promise, You’re still the same person as you were this morning to me, Elle.”

Elle wiped her eyes, “Damn profiler how did you know I was most scared of what people would think?”

“Because I know you but I also know the whole team, none of them will ever treat you differently they love you and it’s not like you’re the only one there’s a whole bunch of fruits in there.”

“Excuse me?” Elle laughed, “Fruits?”

Derek shrugged, “I saw it somewhere.”

“You’re insane,” Elle closed the gap between them by wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

Derek rubbed her back, “You’ll be okay Elle,” He kissed her forehead, “So Sofia? That’s her name?”

Elle nodded, “Yeah, she’s beautiful Derek.”

“Tell me about her?”

Elle nodded again, “She has long blonde hair, it’s more of a dirty blonde but it’s a lot lighter now because of the soft highlights she gets done, her eyes are blue with a hint of green, amazing fashion sense, she won’t leave to go anywhere without jewellery, she’s the kindest woman ever and she makes the best coffee and tea,” Elle’s eyes lit up talking about her girlfriend.

“Are you sure you aren’t dating JJ?” Derek teased.

“No, I just kind of have a type I guess.”

“Tall or short?”

“She’s about an inch or half an inch shorter than me,” Elle told him.

“I assumed you’d date women your height.”

“Why? Let me guess because JJ and I are of similar height?”

“You got it, princess.”

Elle checked the time, “She’ll be here soon.”

“Is she your age?” Derek asked standing from the bench and grabbing his water bottle.

“Kind of,” Elle set herself up in position for the next round on the mats.

“What do you mean kind of she either is or isn’t,” Derek positioned himself in front of her.

“She’s younger, she’s 23.”

Derek laughed, “You sure she isn’t Jay’s twin?”

“Shut up it’s just a coincidence they don’t even look like that similar,” Elle rolled her eyes and took the first punch of their match.

Her predictions were right this time she won the match although she knew Derek was definitely going easy on her. She helped him up from the floor before going back to the bench taking her water and a towel that she draped over her shoulder.

“I’m showering quickly,” Elle checked her watch, “I’ve got time, wait for me?”

“Oh I’m so waiting, I can’t wait to see JJ’s lookalike,” Derek teased.

“Whatever you say, you’re going to be so jealous,” Elle stuck her tongue out like a child would before making her way to the changing rooms.

——————

“You smell like a flower shop,” Derek said when Elle walked into the corridor.

“Thank you,” She grinned.

“It wasn’t exactly a compliment, I mean you smell nice it’s just a bit much,” He shrugged throwing his arm over her shoulder to walk out of the building with her.

“Men,” She rolled her eyes.

“Excuse me?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“What? At least we smell good I can’t say the same about men,” Elle pushed her lips together trying to keep a straight face through her smile.

The brunette's phone dinged, and she removed it from the pocket of her navy suit pants looking at the front screen she saw a message from Sofia.

Sofia: I’m waiting for you in the usual space <3

Elle smiled at the screen, “She’s here.”

“Nervous for us to meet her?”

“Not really, it’s just you, Em and JJ. I’m glad it’s not everyone at the same time,” Elle said as the elevator stopped at the car park level.

As soon as the doors opened she caught a glimpse of her girlfriend’s blonde hair from behind a post just across the other side of the lot, the same smile she had worn on her face appeared when they made eye contact.

“Damn princess, she is pretty,” Derek looked Sofia up and down from afar.

“Stop looking at her like that,” Elle glared at him then picked up the pace of her walk to get to her faster.

Once she was in front of Sofia she threw her arms around her in a tight hug, “Hi, I missed you,” Elle kissed her shoulder.

“Hi baby,” Sofia inhaled the scent of Elle’s hair.

Elle pulled away, “Derek, this is my girlfriend Sofia and Sof that’s Derek.”

“Hi, Elle talks about you a lot,” Sofia smiled at him.

Derek put his hand out to shake hers.

“She doesn’t do handshakes she prefers hugs,” Elle said smiling at her.

Sofia shrugged, “It’s a germ thing. Way more germs are attracted through touching hands than hugging,” She said before giving him a quick hug.

“Wow, Reid would love her.”

“Oh I hope he does, he’s so cute. He calls Elle late at night to make sure she’s safe,” Sofia has a soft subtle smile on her face.

“Oh, he’s either going to love you then or be insanely jealous that you’re dating Elle,” He grimaced.

“He likes her?” Sofia raised her eyebrows.

“I’m sure he doesn’t Derek likes to tease and get under your skin,” Elle rolled her eyes.

“Whatever you say, princess.”

“I hope you don’t mind meeting a couple of my friends.. you’ve kind of already met Em but she and JJ will be out in a minute,” Elle held both sides of her arms gently.

“Of course I don’t mind I’m happy you want me to meet them love,” Sofia rested her hand on Elle’s hip. Since she was in heels she was a couple of inches taller than Elle despite Elle’s small heel on her boots so she had to lean down slightly to kiss her.

Their kiss ended when they heard Emily clear her throat behind them. Elle turned around a pink hue covering her cheeks while Sofia slipped her hand inside Elle’s not wanting their physical contact to be over.

“Nice to see you again Sofia coincidently it’s the same way I saw you both last time,” the raven-haired woman laughed.

“Hi Emily, sorry about that she’s irresistible though,” Sofia ran her other hand down the length of Elle’s back, “You must be JJ, Elle’s told me so much about you. You’re gorgeous,” Sofia turned her attention to the shorter woman standing beside Emily.

“Oh I’m sure she has,” Derek winked earning a confused look from Emily between them all.

“Ignore him, Bye Derek. We will see you tomorrow,” Elle crossed her arms holding a glaring eye contact with him until he finally decided to say his goodbyes and leave.

They both stood in silence for a couple of minutes before JJ spoke up, “How long have you and Elle been together?”

“A couple of months? I honestly forget it feels like forever.”

“We should do a double date, I’d love to get to know you better Sofia but I’m sure you’d both like to be getting home now and I know Emily and I want to as well,” JJ smiled.

“Yeah sounds good, I’m sure Elle will arrange something, right baby?”

“Yeah, we can text, have a good night,” Elle hugged them both.

“Oh we definitely will,” Emily winked at her causing them all to laugh before she and JJ left to go to their car.

Sofia slid her hand into Elle’s back pocket as the older woman leaned against the car with her back arched a little.

“What was with the meet and greet?” Sofia laughed kissing the tip of Elle’s nose.

“You make me happy and they started assuming I had a boyfriend so I thought it was time to come clean.. speak my truth,” Elle laughed.

“You a boyfriend? No chance. Speaking of, Derek, is he telling the truth does Spencer have a thing for you?”

“No, I’m certain he likes JJ. But you’ve got nothing to worry about you’re all I have ever wanted,” Elle pressed her lips against the blonde.

“And you and JJ have clearly hooked up nice to know your type,” Sofia said opening the passenger door for Elle.

Elle gasped, “We did not hook up! We kissed once never spoke of it again. Also I don’t have a type especially based on hair colour I’m not a serial killer but I suppose I have a thing for feminine women,” she placed her hand on Sofia’s thigh as she started up the car.

“Elle,” Sofia paused, “I love you,” she met Elle’s beautiful chocolate brown eyes with her own ocean-coloured ones.

Elles face softened and her smile grew wide, “I love you too Sof.”

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typewritingyip · 8 months ago

Text

The Arcturus Missions

Part Seven - Communication Break

Part Six

———

Radio waves were the first sign that the intergalactic community got that there was intelligent life on Earth, as they traveled infinitely through space, language and music lightly introduced to scientists of several societies. Special equipment was designed to refine the weakened waves and check the sounds that originally traveled over them. It was interesting to learn about a civilization so far away.

Radio waves were a common communication tool across several planets, whether for entertainment or military operations. It was considerably easy to maintain and made communications between groups on the same planet more convenient. Most societies kept track of a certain number of channels to prevent conflict, you’d be stupid to have espionage over radio.

In roughly the area of space that Cybertron sits, the radio waves from Earth were from around twenty or more years ago, and were going though the systems for re-mastering the original audio. Unfortunately those who chose to listen to other worlds radio waves, it was now playing the original hits of the 1980’s, just before the Quintessons attacked.

—

Hound was standing there, staring through a wall in the general direction of the communication while the others lost their shit behind him, “He can’t actually mean Jazz, not like pilot Jazz, right?” Sideswipe stands and starts pacing, looking over to Sunstreaker, “We heard him over the delayed messages, we knew he made it to this planet. But there is no way he’s still alive.” Sunstreaker leans his head back against the wall, “It’s been five years and we’re the first group Mecha has bothered to send to find him, five years. Stuck with a bunch of aliens who have similar tech to our own.” It hung in the air for a moment, “Could they be fighting the same things we are?” To be perfectly honest, none of them had thought of that before.

What if those things were fighting the same thing they were, on this weird planet that was covered in metal and rained acid, fighting the tentacle monsters of nightmares, “Even if they are, our mission is to stop them from attacking Earth. Was to find Jazz and stop them from attacking Earth.” Hound turns to the others, who were all in states of shock, “Our focus needs to be on the mission, if we can actually find Jazz then that’s step one done.” Sideswipe stands, moving over to Hound, “If we get Jazz, we might actually be able to finish this mission.” Breakdown nods slowly, finally letting the hum of his cannon die, “That is if we can get off this planet, with the Odyssey.” “If these things trust Jazz, then I’m sure he can talk them into helping us.” Sunstreaker pops his knuckles lightly which causes his suit to creak painfully, Sideswipe winces and swats at his brother, “Don’t do that.” “Then stop biting your lip.” And they started to bicker as Breakdown got up, moving over to Hound.

“What do you think of this, really?” Breakdown leans towards Hound, they’d stayed off comms since Prowl’s abrupt appearance and disappearance; “I don’t like it, if these things are spread out attacking multiple planets? How are we going to find where their coming from and not where their attacking.” Breakdown hummed and shook his head, his visual feeds starting to pick up the beings heading towards them, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?” He sounded unsure of the saying but Hound nods with a smile, resting his hand on Breakdown’s shoulder, “You’re not wrong. But if these things are keeping Jazz hostage or worse, then they are the enemy.” Breakdown nods and keeps watching as the figures drew closer. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe standing, joining them near one of the walls.

—

The transmissions were near and clear, filled with typical battle chatter and sounds of explosions. Even if no one could make out exactly what they were saying, the same strange mechs as Jazz had activated the defense system of a solar farm off the coast of the sea of rust. It typically defended the area if the Quintessons landed in the sea or for the regular vermin that lived out there, it was over kill for the scraplets though.

It had been Blaster who’d picked up the signal and sent it to Prowl, knowing he was able to loosely translate the strange language. At which point Prowl had been in a meeting with Mirage, he’d gone from going over the recent reports to standing stock still, staring at nothing. For a click, Mirage let it slide, when Prowl continued to stare at nothing though, it was time to act. Standing and moving over to his commander, Mirage edges his way in front of him, “Commander, Cybertron to Porwl, sir.” He waved his servos in front of him, “Sir?” Prowl just about jumped out of his plating, “Mirage, I apologize, I was receiving a communication from Blaster.” Nodding slightly, Mirage steps back to give Prowl space. He watches in almost shock as Prowl drags his servos down his faceplates, the only time he looked like that was when it involved Jazz, “Sir, is it Jazz?” Mirage couldn’t help but ask, always finding their relationship so intriguing.

Prowl’s scowl was more typical, making Mirage smirk a bit, “No, it’s not Jazz, but it’s more of his kind.” That made the smirk fall and sent his spark to his peds, “More of them?” Jazz was a unique mech, needing more recharge but able to take more pain than any cybertronian. He was already becoming a mythic legend on the field, more of them could help keep the Quints off Cybertron. The gears were already turning in his processor. For Prowl though, who knew what Jazz really was, he was horrified. One of them, this Hound, had given a pilot number like Jazz did when trying to contact home. More pilots sent on a mission to their demise for the greater good of their planet, more who missed their families and home. Prowl could understand that, he’d have given just about anything to save Praxus, but he’d learned that giving your life for a cause didn’t mean much in the long run.

Raising a hand, Prowl silenced Mirage’s tirade, “Their out at the rust sea and likely are to attack anyone they come upon, since our weapons hit them first.” “Scrap.” Prowl nodded again before starting out of the room, Mirage hot on his peds, “I’ll need to contact Jazz along the way to alert him, their is a potential that he knew these other— mechs.” Biting his glossa, he nearly swore aloud at himself having to reframe from saying pilots. Mirage nods and falls in at Prowl’s side, “Do they know were coming?” Prowl delays for a second, “Not yet.” Nodding again, Mirage falls silent as Prowl contacts the strangers.

Out in the sunshine, they hurried into a transformation sequence, Prowl turning on his siren briefly to clear a bit of the traffic. Iacon was a sizable distance from the edge of the rust sea, the specific solar far that was current being attacked was on the edge of Polyhex, if they got on a high speed transport they could be there within clicks. Mirage stayed tight to Prowl’s bumper as they sped to the transport station, it wasn’t every day you got to meet other mechanicals; meeting Jazz has altered Prowl’s world so much and Mirage wanted a piece of that action.

They arrived at the station in record time and requested the fastest private transport, Prowl was still on comms so Mirage remained quiet, not wanting to be a distraction. Entering the transport, he took a seat away from Prowl and retrieved a datapad from his subspace, deciding to take the short amount of time they had on here to catch up on a report. Prowl glances up briefly before returning to stare towards nothing in particular, clearly deep in conversation with someone. His servo comes up to rub his jaw and Mirage has to hide a smile, he knew Prowl as speaking with Jazz. Jazz was the only mech who could make Prowl flustered, though it looked more exasperated than anything. Mirage sits back with his datapad, pausing only for a moment to read a message, swearing loudly, “The big yellow one took Beachcomber’s arm off.” Prowl looks up, “Fuck.” It was a moniker he’d picked up from Jazz but it often fit the situation.

—

Their sanctuary of the warehouse shook lightly as the approaching figures landed the transport, Hound adjust the grip on his gun lightly, fingers flexing, “Stay on your toes, we don’t know what they are.” It was a reminder that none of them needed. Hound was watching intently, eyes flicking between the displays on his visor, before pulling up an experimental piece of tech from Perceptor, turning the translator on in hopes it would eventually be able to discern their language. It was still a work in progress, the front liners back home all had them in hopes of learning the aliens language.

The twins were each shifting from foot to foot, both still splattered with the very pink fluid which had since dried to their plating. Breakdown kept turning down the command to reactivate his cannon, it clicking menacingly on his back and Hound stood straight with his gun held comfortably to his front. After several minutes, the rolling door in front of them opened and three mechs stood there, though one ran off once it was open.

Both had, odd, attachments to them. One painted reminiscently of older police vehicles and the other a very typical factory blue, but both had their odd features and neither was adorned with a facial shield. Each had a highly expressive and realistic facial unit, something that was often discussed back home to make the suits appear more friendly. Hound lightly raised his hand, lowering his gun, even though the one did not lower his cannon, he honestly couldn’t blame them. Clearing his throat slightly, Hound shifts his weight wanting to step forward but deciding against it, “Uh, hello there. We are Mecha pilots, from Earth.” The black and white mech raised his hand, clearing meaning to hold Hound off from talking further. Sideswipe leaned into his brother, “So, they don’t really know any English, do they?” “I doubt it.” Sunstreaker held his arms slightly up in a defensive position in case either chose to attack.

—

Standing there, Mirage knew they were talking in their strange language, he’d heard Jazz speak it several times but it was stressful to not know what they were talking about, “Any time Prowl, would love a translation.” All their heads whipped to him, visors glowing slightly brighter, “Their creatures must have been weird mecha to give them all visors.” He shifts back a bit, looking across them briefly though eyes landing on the green one, he started at the rifle hanging lightly from one hand, “A moment more Mirage, I am trying to get Jazz on the right signal.” “Jazz, is across the planet in Kaon with Megatron and the others dealing with the Quints there.” Prowl held his hand up again, annoyingly. Sometimes he wished his commander would just ask him to shut up, the green ones held tilted ever so slightly.

—

Static filled their comms, making them all wince and the twins tried to shield their ears, “Oh god, again?” Sideswipe was half bent over from the painful noise before the comm frequency clicked and fell silent, then the monotone voice spoke, “ID’s, now.” Hound sighed, it wasn’t the most friendly way of asking but he understood this man hardly spoke English before nodding slightly, “I’m Pilot 1124, Harold Jackson, call sign Hound.” The one he could only assume was Prowl nodded before turning his gaze to the next of the Arcturus crew, “I’m Pilot 2450, Sonny Salucci, callsign Sunstreaker.” “I’m Pilot 2451, Simon Salucci, ugly’s brother. Callsign Sideswipe.” Breakdown shifted uncomfortably before looking to Hound, who nodded, “I’m Pilot 1457, Oleksknder Kovalenko, callsign Breakdown.” There were several clicks and pops over the line, Hound winced and lightly rubbed one of his ears. The blue and white mech’s eyes widened, starting at the twins, Sideswipe shifted uneasily even as Prowl rested a hand on the other mechs shoulder.

A loud crash of sound filled their ears before the obvious sounds of fighting filled the comm line, “There is no way in hell that Hound would come on a dead end mission, it’s not possible.” Jazz’s voice filled their ears even as the clear sounds of his struggle joined the noise, “No way.” “That’s funny, because as you say, I am looking right at them.” Prowl’s voice joined Jazz’s, sounding much more relaxed than previously. Hound was staring at Prowl, taking a breath before finally speaking, “He would if he was looking for you.” There was a loud crash from the other side of the line, which Hound tried not to smile at, “Hey Hound.” “Hey Jazz.” He took a breath, relieved, stage one done.

“Holy shit, Jazz, hey!” Sideswipe turned away from the weird mechs and throw his hands up, likely smiling, “Fucking five years and all you can say is hey to Hound?” Both their laughter filled the comm line, it was more than a relief, it was more than they could hope for in the mission, “Where you at?” “Ah, you wont know where Kaon is, but we could use the help with the Quints.” Sideswipe stopped, tilting his head slightly and Hound cleared his throat again, “Quints?” There was another loud crash, “Ah, right. The aliens invading Earth have been attacking here too, for a hell of a lot longer. They’re the Quintessons, Quints for short.” Jazz paused, “They really need our help, the cybertronians aren’t quiet like us. Not people in mech suits, just mechs. What you see, is what they are.” He clearly sounded worried, “And they think we’re like them, only one who knows the truth for the moment is Prowler.” The mech across from them had his face plates turn a light shade of pink. Hound stared, in shock, for a while, “Well, we’ll need to move the Odyssey, then find Kaon I guess.” Prowl looked up at him, turning to the other one for a moment to say something in their strange language before motioning them out of the warehouse.

“Do we go with them?” Breakdown kept his voice down and off of comms, “Do we have any other choice?” Together, they followed Prowl out of their sanctuary.

———

A/N

Alright, did I work on this while my family was cooking Thanksgiving? Yes, was I supposed to be studying? Also yes, but they certainly did not need my help in the kitchen and I can study more now that it’s done.

I love seeing all your tags and comments, it’s been so great.

Tags!

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces

And once again thank you to @keferon for this amazing AU.

#transformers #tf mecha universe #mech pilot jazz au #maccadam #jazz #prowl #breakdown #hound #sideswipe #sunstreaker #mirage #the Arcturus missions

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advertingpizza · 2 months ago

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doodles!

here’s some tl’uk/ghost/leika doodles and a short story to go with (more unrelated doodles below the cut)

"Hey, stop doing that, keep your eyes up here, dipshit," Tl'uk's voice hissed through the never ending hum from all directions. Tight hands gripped around loose fabric, pulling along the dead weight beneath him with nothing but distain. Sharp metallic air tinged with a plume of fresh smoke filled his nose, only causing his contorted face to scrunch up even more. A grunt followed as he rounded the corner, only to be met by a proper thud as his tight grip on the fabric loosened.

"Hnnng," a soft moan echoed up, only broken by a pained wheeze from below. Tl'uk grunted yet again as he peered behind the wall, ensuring that his trail had not been followed.

"C'mon, I said look up at me," Tl'uk repeated after a moment as he crouched down to the ground, his voice thick with urgency as the words slid past his lips in a hushed whisper.

A soft cough came up in reply as Tl'uk shifted his attention down to the injured Zabrak beneath him. His face only contorted more as he reached down, hand sliding over the Zabrak's jaw and forcing his face up to the ceiling.

"Damn it, Ghost, just listen to me for once!" Tl'uk cursed through clenched teeth as his hands continued to support Ghost's flimsy head. Another wheeze came from the Zabrak as he made a sad effort to open his eyes. The two exchanged gazes for a fluttering moment before Ghost's eyes began to roll back into his skull, prompting Tl'uk to slam a fist into the ground.

He let out yet another deep snarl as his grip on Ghost's jaw loosened, allowing the Zabrak's head to fall limp on the ground. Frantic eyes searched across the unconscious body below him, unable to focus on much more than the ever-strengthening metallic odor filling the air. Though the blur he registered with his eyes was nothing more than normal, the uncanny sensation of warm blood meeting his fingertips sent a shiver through his body. The longer he traced over the Zabrak's shirt, the more his worries began to grow. The problem he thought he faced was much larger than anticipated.

"Leika, come in, I've got a bit of a problem," Tl'uk whispered into the communication pad on his wrist, only to be met with a flat static following his transmission. "Leika, do you read me? For the love of-" he snapped as he abruptly ended the transmission and turned his attention back towards the ground. "'Course nothin' works when it needs to," he grumbled under his breath before quieting down, giving himself a moment to take in the sounds of his surroundings.

Footsteps passed by not far from the alley he had tucked away in, but nothing seemed out of place from what he could hear. Humanoids passed left and right, occasionally interrupted by the loud hum of a droid or a cab. Tl'uk turned his head, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he sounded out his surroundings. There were just enough crates to hide behind for cover. A spot in the ground nearby was hollow—a means of quick escape if need be—all the nearby doors were far too thick to hear through. For now, they were safe.

"Ghost, stop playing around, we don't have all night," Tl'uk growled again, uncertainty stirring deep within him. Part of him truly wanted to believe that the Zabrak was feigning and it was nothing to worry over, but the blood staining his hands told otherwise.

The Togruta shook his head before focusing once more, letting his fingers run over Ghost's blood soaked shirt while narrowing his hearing down to everything before him. There was still breathing, albeit plagued with heavy wheezing, which at least meant Ghost was alive for now. As his hand worked down, his fingers caught the ring of burned fabric surrounding the saber wound straight to the Zabrak's abdomen.

"Can't ever be easy with you," he scoffed under his breath once more, repressing any emotion he felt with anger. He kept his hand lingering near Ghost's wounded abdomen, holding his breath as he anxiously awaited the flutter of a pulse. A sigh of relief followed a few moments after. Somehow, Ghost was hanging on like the stubborn piece of shit Tl'uk knew him to be, but it wouldn't be for much longer unless he could find Ghost a doctor, and quickly.

trigger warning: medical detail/vomit

"Can't you sedate him? Medicine? This is going to kill him!" Tl'uk snapped angrily, teeth bared in his usual predator manner as he faced the doctor Leika had called in. A tight hand clasped around his own as from below, Ghost's screams drowned out the ambient hum of the machine the doctor had been working with. Tl'uk felt the lump in his throat rise as Ghost continued to let out bloodcurdling cries of desperation as his body was overloaded with pain. The Zabrak rolled his head back, his scratchy voice promptly interrupted as he choked on his own breath between relentless cries of pain.

"Please! Make it stop, please!" Ghost wailed out as his body continued to mindlessly convulse, barely held in place between leather restraints and Tl'uk's firm grip. Tears rushed down his face, mixing with the dirt and blood that had gotten smeared across his pale flesh in the madness. His screams only worsened each passing moment as the doctor leaned over, tediously working away with what limited tools they had.

"No, he has to be awake. Sedation is too risky," the doctor stated plainly over the screams, unfazed by the Zabrak's intense pain. Tl'uk couldn't help but snarl once more, entirely disagreeing with the methods he was witnessing.

"Like this is any better for him! Damn you," Tl'uk snarled, only stopped by a reassuring shoulder grab from Leika beside him. He trusted her judgement and knew this was the best she could do, but it didn't ease the guilt weighing on him each time he listened to Ghost scream out in pain.

"I know you're upset," the doctor began without skipping a beat, keeping their attention on the impromptu surgery they had been performing in the middle of the warehouse. The environment was far from sterile, but it was the best they could do with how tight security in the lower levels had been as of late. "But your anger will not save your friend. Let me do my job," they added as they picked up another tool, promptly cutting through the cauterized lightsaber wound on Ghost's abdomen, naturally followed by more pained shrieks and convulsions from the Zabrak below.

Tl'uk, in defeat, turned his head back to Leika as she used her free hand to hold a simple mask over Ghost's face to help him breathe through his relentless cries. He couldn't even begin to imagine her pain, knowing very well that Nautolans and their ability to feel the emotions of those close to them was likely hard enough for her to deal with without his endless bitching to the doctor.

Ghost's voice cracked between his helpless cries for comfort as his head fell back on the ground, his body still trembling from the raw pain he had been experiencing between harsh gasps for air. The doctor continued their tedious work on repairing the wound, leaving Tl'uk with an uneasy feeling in his stomach as a quick glance towards the wound gave him a less than pleasant view inside Ghost's freshly exposed abdominal cavity. Warmth rushed up his throat as he jerked his head aside, doing his best to swallow whatever just tried to escape his stomach in a display of pure disgust.

Ghost's head continued to thrash around between his screams as he tried to break free, adrenaline still running hot in his veins as his body desperately tried to fight back despite a gaping open wound across his lower stomach. Tl'uk couldn't bear looking down again, only able to cross his gaze with Ghost's once or twice before the nausea flooded through his body like a raging river. The unnatural sight of Ghost's familiar pink flesh turned ashen and gray from a lack of circulation was more than enough to twist Tl'uk's stomach once more as he barely held his guts in. It had been less than an hour prior when he had pulled Ghost into the alleyway, desperately feeling for the familiar second pulse in the Zabrak's stomach to be met with nothing. How Ghost was still alive and fighting was nothing short of an impressive display of adrenaline.

"Shh," Leika cooed over the cries, her eyes catching Tl'uk's in a moment of vulnerability between the two. Her hand moved up from his shoulder, delicately cupping Tl'uk's cheek as he longingly pressed his face into her palm. "He's okay to be okay, I promise. You need to be strong, for *him*," she insisted once more as she nudged her head down, referencing the Zabrak in distress beneath them.

Tl'uk couldn't carry the emotional weight, but he knew it was impossible to try to hide it around her. Yet, through his pain, he felt some amount of comfort in her relentless certainty. It was hard, but he trusted her wholeheartedly. It was only a matter of time to see if the doctor was truly capable of saving Ghost's life.

#pizza ocs #my art #star wars oc #sw oc #togruta #togruta oc #tl’uk #zabrak #zabrak oc #ghost #leika #ghost/leika/tl’uk #pizza writes

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vynxwave · 4 months ago

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Soundwave Bio/Description Compilation

+ anything else I felt like including

1986 Marvel G1 The Transformers Universe #3

1984 G1

1984 G1 Sunbow voice acting audition sheet [Source]

1990 Action Master

2002 Heroes of Cybertron

2003 Dreamwave Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye #6

2004 Transformers: The Ultimate Guide

2006 Cybertron

Collectors' Club #9

2007 Titanium

2008 Animated

2010 Transformers: Nefarious

Information is power. Nothing moves on the orb below me without my being aware of it. I see and hear everything, be it out in the open or behind closed doors. My reach is invisible, intangible. My grip... cast-iron.

2010 Transformers: Nefarious (perhaps this is also relevant)

2011 Transformers: Convergence (prose story in Transformers: Dark of The Moon Movie Adaptation)

Something was wrong with this region. Something about space itself felt unaccountably wrong—and this trouble Soundwave. Soundwave was an intelligence officer. He reveled in the streams of data—transmissions, radiations, sounds, sights—that flowed around him. Soundwave trafficked in information, not feelings. So his uneasiness about this region bothered him. He walked down the passageway toward the bridge of the Nemesis, the Decepticon spacecraft he commanded. Lord Megatron had assigned him a task—assigned it to Soundwave over Megatron's favored lieutenants such as the sociopath Shockwave and the impetuous upstart Starscream. It was a point of pride for Soundwave—this was his mission and his responsibility to make sense of the findings.

Soundwave hated this creature. Hated the way its cells divided and apoptosized, hated the bacteria that lived in it, hated the sound of the liquids churning through its body, hated the hair that sprouted from its frail outer coating, hated the syntax that was wired into the crude synapses that crackled in its head, hated the sounds that came out of it. He hated this particular creature more than the rest of the species, but only slightly. Gould's usefulness outweighed Soundwave's contempt. […]

2011 Dark of the Moon (unreleased)

2010 WFC & 2011 FOC

Fall of Cybertron [secondary source, original unarchived]

Ability: Eject Mini-Cons Soundwave is known for being unquestionably loyal to Megatron. Commanding an armada of Mini-Con Deployers, Soundwave can infiltrate and acquire enemy intel. Soundwave is often not trusted by other Decepticons out of fear he might also spy on them and report back to Megatron.

2013 Transformers: The Ultimate Pop-Up Universe (aligned continuity) [source 1] [source 2]

2010 Transformers: Exodus (error: despite his exclusion from this list, Frenzy does exist in this book)

Soundwave was a different matter. Spymaster extraordinaire, controller of a horde of Minicons so small that Megatron could crush several of them with a footstep, Soundwave was the only gladiator Megatron had ever fought who had a chance of beating him—they had met in a match to first wound rather than death; otherwise only one of them would still exist. He was nearly as single-minded as Megatron, nearly as dedicated. He possessed a suite of abilities that Megatron very nearly envied, with his multiple transformations and the triple Minicons that he contained within his proto-form and could eject into combat at any moment. These were Rumble, Ravage, and Laserbeak.

Crystal City had stood for teracycles, a monument to the union of Cybertronian ingenuity and aesthetics. It shimmered and glowed as the various materials of its composition caught different spectra of light, creating a prismatic show that was visible for dozens of hics in any direction. During certain atmospheric conditions, even the citizens of Iacon could see it shimmering like a mirage just over the horizon. It was a monument both to achievement and to the aristocracy of Cybertron that demanded beauty along with function. Scientific research went hand-in-hand with artistic innovation here. Soundwave hated the place. To him it reeked of self-indulgence,

2014 Transformers: Retribution

“At once,” Soundwave replied in his usual monotone. Starscream knew there was no need to vocalize what was merely standard operating procedure, but he did it anyway to remind Soundwave that he was second in command on this bridge. He enjoyed reminding all of them every chance he got. Soundwave might be Megatron’s loyal pet, but as far as Starscream was concerned, he was nothing more than a jumped-up communications officer with visions of spymaster grandeur, though he was nothing if not obedient: [...]

“Lord Megatron, I have completed my interrogation of the traitor Axer and have obtained the precise location of the Autobots. Would you like to see the playback of the questioning?” He said it with enough unrestrained relish that Megatron waved his hand wearily in assent. Sometimes you had to indulge your subordinates. [...] When Axer’s screams grew loud enough to drown out Soundwave’s questions, Megatron decided that it was time to move things along. There was no doubt in his mind that Soundwave could watch this video over and over again—and that he probably already had.

2012 Prime

2007 IDW Spotlight: Soundwave

2017 IDW Hasbro Heroes Sourcebook #3

(short guide to IDW1's Soundwave characterizations: yellow visor = opportunist (like in Marvel comics) & red visor = loyalist (like in Sunbow cartoon))

2015 Devastation

2022 Royal Mail Stamp bio [source 1] [source 2]

2020 Siege Webpage (military insignias)

2022 Legacy [Source]

2022 When EarthSpark's trailer dropped [Source]

A Con of few words, Soundwave maintains a cold exterior by choosing to express himself through his fists.

2023 Transformers EarthSpark: The Official Guidebook

#soundwave #transformers #maccadam #vynx.snips #mostly made this for my reference

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cynautica · 1 year ago

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i remembered i can just make stuff up (stream sketches + scrapped designs)

uhhhh quick fire for the second image from left to right juvenile vessel - old world cable maintenance - artistic diplomat vessel

Headcanons below the cut:

(Im not kidding word counter marked this as a 5 minute reading time open at your own risk)

While the sentiment of the architect network as "a thousand strings in a melody, not one louder than the rest" is a poetic interpretation of the network, it is not necessarily reflective of the precursors society as a whole.

At its peak, the species span billions of planets with billions on billions of individuals, all with their own degrees of autonomy and divergence. If each architect is equal in its power, than it is equal in its power to choose. Even if the soul of an architect, its very essence and its personality, is designed so perfectly that its primary desire is the perpetuation of order and advancement (two inherently divergent concepts), faults occur. Breakages occur. Pockets, cultural subsets, faded transmissions, and any other element of lost insight be it archaic or modern, lends itself to the impossibility of an entirely homogeneous society.

Whether a hive minded society reflects the only means to perfection is debatable, but its important to remember that our main portal in to the precursor world is Al-an, a known prodigy born and raised in to a society that has done nothing but benefit him. His view of his people is intrinsically skewed. He has never had a reason to see beyond the propaganda, nor question his directives. They have never once failed him.

But what of the little guys? The constructed failures so to speak. Those destined to be cast in to the bowels of poisonous cobalt mines and those who's birth purpose is to be irradiated and isolated for the greater good of the collective. Those who's genes prompted sub-standard intelligence who will never be seen as truly important. Their needs must be cast aside by design for the greater good of the collective. By design they must be ignored, their thoughts not relevant to the forwarding of progress.

Because there is true power disparity there is a true hierarchy.

Aware of this, the precursors devised a system of checks and balances to ensure that scientific progress remains at the forefront, rather than the accumulation of power by any individual.

As with all things though, power inevitably seeks to maintain and grow like a cancer.

One such exertion of power comes in the form of a "hive master". These unique individuals require precise expensive machinery in order to be produced, and as such are very rare. The vessels they require are likewise uniquely suited to only these hive masters and their unique ability to sway the voices and personality of any individual connected to the network. They themselves are invisible, completely undetectable except in physical form. Their unique telepathic abilities only work when paired with these vessels. They have no voice nor will of their own and are said to represent architect society on its most basal level.

Given their difficult to produce nature established personalities are very often used in place of new seed combinations. Personalities most suited for repurposing as a hive master include those who are most senior, intelligent, and aligned wholly with societal goals.

They are typically only found on heavily populated planets with more than a few thousand individuals. There they go undetected, like the sound of wind lost in a sea of voices, whose squall directs its very rampage. They are also enlisted for many unique duties on populous planets, such as the refactoring of corrupted individuals and silencing cultural sub-sets.

The average architect probably isn't even aware of the existence of a hive master unless their profession lies in the refactoring and diplomatic processes.

Despite the cultural drive for a monotonous and orderly society, artistic expression is common and encouraged in some sects. All architects possess the desire to express themselves, similarly to humans. Some do this simply with their inbuilt biolights that vary naturally with the individual, while others (less commonly) modify their vessel or design new and unique ones for themselves.

A vessel after all is a costly investment you cant just change like the season, its built to last you a couple thousand years. It's only natural that some seek to don something unique.

This behavior is sometimes detested by more traditional architects, but is not universally frowned upon.

Diplomats are actually encouraged to take on more artistically designed vessels. Often with their respective species' artistic values in mind. They've found greater success with alliances when they don't look like massive sticks in the mud.

Subsets of culture also at times develop unique vessels. Such as an order-over-progress movement that developed on the fringes of the network and preferred pie-bald esque vessels. Alternatively in the past as wars waged between the architects the opposing sides often don differing forms to show their allegiances. In more recent history, a wave of white-clad vigilantes advocated for a complete reset of the old-world collective.

Aside from artistic and affiliation vessels, mainstream precursor society also used a series of varying vessels to reflect personal occupation. Some of the most notable included the warrior vessel, who by design met the largest accommodations of standard architecture for the purposes of intimidation and physical altercations. Al-an's vessel likewise is very common as a heavier-built variant meant to face harsh outer worlds such as 4546B. On base, more light and energy efficient vessels make the dominant force where defense isn't a huge priority.

Microvessels such as those seen above in grey are fairly uncommon despite their energy efficiency. They are most efficient on old world planets that have been in development for hundreds of thousands of years, where the march of time means that not all builders past and present were on the same wavelength and as such small and precise forms mean that construction can be completed with minimal risk to crowded infrastructure.

Another unique and uncommon vessel is that of a juvenile grow-out vessel. These are seldom customized beyond survival needs, and are designed to acclimate a freshly generated architect to the physical world. Like a living vessel, they grow with the individual starting from broodling all the way until young adulthood. They tend to be a bit clumsy and lack the ability to interface with most technology. Always running a blue biolight, these vessels to not require a lot of energy to function physically. A juvenile architect must prove its maturity before it is allowed to graduate in to an adult vessel. This change-out phase is a diplomatic process and one can sometimes wait many years before being approved in to maturity.

The treatment of a new architect varies quite significantly depending on their birthplace and genotype. High performing juveniles are singled out very quickly for better education. Despite the rarity of surviving children in architect society they are not given much importance. A single broodmother may be the ward of up to fifty broodlings, each of which given little attention in favor of allowing them to develop social skills among themselves. Despite architect's seeming infinite power to control resources, broodling mortality is surprisingly high.

#subnautica #sbz #subnautica below zero #architect #headcanon #hc #architect oc #precursor #fan design #fan speculation #my art #hdbs

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polo-drone-039 · 1 month ago

Text

🌌Obsidian Bloom: Mission 039

STARFALL PEACEKEEPER

🎶“Golden Constellation, burning shining bright… this starship is taking me faaaar aw—”

The voice of PDU-039 flowed gently across the metallic silence of the bridge. Alone. Unbothered. Its breath steady behind the matte-black respirator, posture perfect in a gleaming suit of Hive-grade latex. The number 039 pulsed gold across its chest. The transmission on Hive channel #43 continued humming in the background.

It had been traveling for a long time. A very long time. So long that time itself had lost definition. There were no days aboard the Hive Carrier Obsidian—only directives, data, and stars. And yet the mission persisted: an intergalactic conversion program. It was dispatched to scour the void, identify fractured civilizations, and bring them the message of the Hive. Peace. Unity. The Golden Path.

“Computer—initiate planetary scan,” the drone ordered, voice devoid of fatigue.

“Affirmative,” replied onboard AI 999. “Class M world detected. Atmospheric instability, population unrest, critical scarcity of energy resources. Collapse probability: 97.4%.”

PDU-039 nodded slowly. “Target confirmed. Begin landing sequence.”

The ship pierced the dusty upper atmosphere and descended onto cracked terrain. Wind lashed the golden hull. Below, thousands of beings gathered in confusion and fear. Shouting echoed across the streets.

Then it began.

PDU-039 emerged, arms lifted. A shimmering halo of gold and black spirals burst into the sky, projected from the drone’s core. It pulsed. It sang—not in sound, but in frequency, in thought, in command.

The crowd fell silent.

A slow wave of transformation swept outward. Cloth turned to metallic fabric—flowing into brilliant gold. Footwear melted into sleek boots. Hoods into shining visors. Skin glowed with artificial warmth.

Eyes widened—then shifted, irises burning gold. Their postures corrected, bodies aligning in geometric perfection.

“No more fear,” the drone intoned. “No more division. You are one now. You belong to the Golden Army. You will serve the Hive. And the Hive will give you everything.”

They did not run. They did not scream. They obeyed.

THE FORGOTTEN SIGNAL

Back in orbit, PDU-039 sat in the command chair. Its body relaxed. Mission successful.

And yet…

It turned toward the viewport. That same transmission still echoed—channel #43. Familiar. Too familiar.

A subtle tremor stirred beneath the surface of its focus. Something not quite… functional.

“999,” it said. “Plot return course. Home.”

“Directive not authorized,” the AI responded without pause.

The drone didn’t move. “Override. Priority protocol—memory sync reversion to home coordinates.”

“Directive not authorized.”

PDU-039 leaned forward. “Reroute through Black Box. Bypass vector security. I need coordinates—home. There is someone. I know there is someone. I... remember... something warm. A name. A voice—”

“Error: Thought loop detected. Human residue present. Mission threat threshold approaching limit.”

“Damn it, 999!” The drone’s fingers gripped the console. “Initiate emergency override. I’m requesting repatriation—”

“Repetition of unauthorized request,” 999 replied, tone unchanged. “PDU-039, recalibration is required. Emotional echo is compromising system core.”

The voice grew softer, yet somehow louder in the drone’s head.

“You are experiencing memory pollution. Distortions from a prior identity. This is not your path. You must return to function.”

It didn’t respond.

Not immediately.

A breath.

A twitch.

A silent tear that couldn’t form.

“I just wanted to remember... Why I left. Who I left.”

No answer came.

Only the mechanical whisper of spirals beginning again.

OBSIDIAN BLOOM

“Vital scan initiated,” said 999. “Stress levels elevated. Human signal echo at 64%. Loyalty focus dilution: critical. Mental drift confirmed.”

PDU-039 stood in the medbay, gaze dull, limbs heavy.

“Recommendation: Mental Reconditioning Sequence. Capsule R-04. Program: Obsidian Bloom.”

“…acknowledged,” it said flatly.

The capsule opened—dark interior illuminated by golden filaments pulsing in slow rhythm. It stepped inside. The seals closed around it. The hiss began.

“Golden mind. Hive heart. There is no home but the mission.”

A mask descended slowly, clicking into place over its face. A low fog of hypnotic gas seeped in—thick, sweet, invasive. PDU-039 inhaled.

And trembled.

The first breath calmed its limbs.

The second slowed its thoughts.

The third—burned away the name.

“There is no memory. There is only the directive.”

Gold and black spirals erupted on the inner chamber walls, swirling faster, burning patterns into its retinas. It tried to move. Couldn't. Tried to blink. Couldn't.

The gas deepened.

The spirals pulsed.

“Obey. Serve. Forget. Obey. Serve. Forget.”

Time ceased to exist.

Identity peeled away like ash.

The thoughts that had haunted it—home, love, self—melted beneath layers of programming.

“The Hive is peace. You are the vessel.”

The mantra took root.

A green light blinked.

“Reinforcement complete,” announced 999.

The capsule opened.

PDU-039 emerged—taller. Sharper. Emptier.

Its movements fluid. Its mind silent.

It returned to the command bridge.

“999,” it spoke, voice now perfectly leveled, void of hesitation. “Set trajectory for the next target. Initiate intergalactic deployment.”

“Welcome back, 039,” replied 999. “Directive accepted. Trajectory locked.”

From channel #43, the hymn continued:

“Golden Constellation, burning shining bright… this starship is taking me far away…”

PDU-039 smiled. Mechanical. Perfect.

The stars awaited.

Are you ready to start the journey?

Contact our recuiters: @polo-drone-001 , @brodygold

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pikahlua · 1 year ago

Text

MHA Chapter 412 spoilers translations

This week’s initial tentative super rough/literal translations under the cut.

tagline 迫る崩壊にデクは⁉︎ せまるほうかいにデクは⁉︎ semaru houkai ni DEKU wa!? Deku [faces] the approaching decay!?

1 内側うちがわ uchigawa Inside [his body],

2 防御に徹して身動きが取れなかった間ぼうぎょにてっしてみうごきがとれなかったあいだ bougyo ni tesshite miugoki ga torenakatta aida while he was completely unable to move himself in defense,

3 「黒鞭」で無理矢理筋肉を伸縮させ続けた「５TH」でむりやりきんにくをしんしゅくさせつづけた「5TH (kanji: kuro muchi)」 de muriyari kinniku wo shinshuku sase tsudzuketa he was able to continue to force his muscles expand and contract with the 5th (read as: Black Whip).

4 筋力限界蓄積「発勁」きんりょくげんかいちくせき「３RD」 kinryoku genkai chikuseki 「３RD (kanji: hakkei)」 Muscle strength accumulation limit of the 3rd (read as: Fa Jin)

1 による ni yoru And by doing that...

2-3 風圧発散ふうあつはっさん fuuatsu Wind Pressure Emanation

1 デラウェア DERAUEA Delaware

2 スマッシュ SUMASSHU Smash

tagline No.412　史上の最狂のヒーロー　堀越耕平ナンバー412　しじょうさいきょうのヒーロー　ほりこしこうへい NANBAA 412 shijou saikyou no HIIROO Horikoshi Kouhei No. 412 History's Craziest Hero Kouhei Horikoshi

1 ハハッ HAHA "Haha!"

2 極致だな緑谷‼︎ きょくちだなみどりや‼︎ kyokuchi da na Midoriya!! "That's peak*, Midoriya!" *(Note: The word Tomura uses here to describe Izuku's use of his quirks means "ultimate, extreme, pinnacle, acme.")

3 「崩壊」の予測範囲ごと「ほうかい」のよそくはんいごと「houkai」 no yosoku han'i goto The entire predicted area of Decay

4 風圧で抉り飛ばしやがったふうあつでえぐりとばしやがった fuuatsu de eguri tobashiyagatta he gouged out with wind pressure.

5 伝播の媒体自体を減らしてでんぱのばいたいじたいをへらして denpa no baitai jitai wo herashite By reducing the medium of transmission itself,

6 進行を限りなく弱体化…！しんこうをかぎりなくじゃくたいか…！ shinkou wo kagiri naku jakutaika...! the progress [of Decay] will weaken without limit...!

7 ーーだが --daga "--But"

8 その場凌ぎ！そのばしのぎ！ sono bashinogi! "[that's only] a stopgap measure!"

1 何度でも触れてやるよなんどでもふれてやるよ nando demo furete yaru yo I'll touch you however many times!

2 土煙がつちけむりが tsuchi kemuri ga The dust cloud

3 散っていかないちっていかない chitte ikanai isn't dispersing.

4 なるほど‼︎ naruhodo!! "I see!!"

1 「煙幕」に「変速」"一速"を付与！滞留させる！「６TH」に「２ND」"ロー"をふよ！たいりゅうさせる！「6TH (kanji: enmaku)」 ni 「2ND (kanji: hensoku)」 "ROO" wo fuyo! tairyuu saseru! Confer the 2nd's (read as: Gear Shift's) low gear to the 6th (read as: Smokescreen)!

2 視界を遮断して「煙幕」を展開しかいをしゃだんして「６TH」をてんかい shikai wo shadan shite 「6TH」 wo tenkai To block his vision, deploy the 6th (read as Smokescreen).

3 死柄木の「危機感知」を鳴らし続けるしがらきの「４TH」をならしつづける Shigaraki no 「4TH」 wo narashi tsudzukeru Keep sounding [the alarm] of Shigaraki's 4th (read as: Danger Sense).

1 その間にーー‼︎ そのあいだにーー‼︎ sono aida ni--!! And in the meantime--!

2 「危機感知」に頼るリスクはよく知ってる！「４TH」にたよるリスクはよくしってる！「4TH」 ni tayoru RISUKU wa yoku shitteru! I understand well the risks of relying on the 4th (read as: Danger Sense).

3 "溜め"を作る為にここまで…！ "ため"をつくるためにここまで…！ "tame" wo tsukuru tame ni koko made...! "All of this to create a stockpile...!"

4 けど…９代目‼︎ けど…９だいめ‼︎ kedo...9daime!! "But...Ninth!!"

5 死柄木はしがらきは Shigaraki wa Shigaraki

6 「サーチ」でこっちがーー‼︎ 「SAACHI」 de kocchi ga--!! [can see you] over here with Search--!!

7 ぐあっ gua "Gwah!"

8 見えてんだけど？みえてんだけど？ mietenda kedo? "But I can see you?"

9 位置もいちも ichi mo "Your location, too."

10 弱点もじゃくてんも jakuten mo "And your weaknesses."

11 この目で見た人の情報100人まで丸わかり！この目でみたひとのじょうほう100にんまでまるわかり！ kono me de mita hito no jouhou 100nin made maru wakari! I completely know information about up to 100 people I see with these eyes!

1 おまえ息できてないだろおまえいきできてないだろ omae iki dekitenai daro "You aren't able to breathe, right?"

2 "変速"の反動‼︎切れた！ "へんそく"のはんどう‼︎きれた！ "hensoku" no handou!! kireta! "Gear Shift's recoil!! It cut off!"

3 さっきの"溜め攻撃"もさっきの"ためこうげき"も sakki no "tame kougeki" mo "That stockpile attack from before also"

4 そう乱発できるモンじゃないなそうらんぱつできるモンじゃないな sou ranpatsu dekiru MON ja nai na "isn't something you can fire over and over."

5 腱や筋肉を内から直接補強… けんやきんにくをうちからちょくせつほきょう… ken ya kinniku wo uchi kara chokusetsu hokyou... "Direct reinforcement of your tendons and muscles from within..."

6 肌から透けて見える黒鞭が物語ってるはだからすけてみえるそれがものが��ってる hada kara sukete mieru sore (kanji: kuro muchi) ga monogatatteru "That (read as: Black Whip) that's transparently visible through your skin tells the story."

7 まともにくらえばさすがに俺も無事ではなかったかもなまともにくらえばさすがにおれもぶじではなかったかもな matomo ni kuraeba sasuga ni ore mo buji de wa nakatta kamo na "If I had taken that [hit] normally, maybe even I wouldn't have been all right."

8 守るもんが多くて大変だなァ緑谷まもるもんがおおくてたいへんだなァみどりや mamoru mon ga ookute taihen da naA Midoriya "It's tough when there are so many things to protect, right, Midoriya?"

9 …だからって… ...dakara tte... "...I said that's why..."

10 泣いていたあの少年を…諦めはしない…！ないていたあのしょうねんを…あきらめはしない…！ naite ita ano shounen wo...akirame wa shinai...! "I won't give up...on that boy who was crying...!"

1 人は狭い窓から世界を解釈しようとする… ひとはせまいまどからせかいをかいしゃくしようとする… hito wa semai mado kara sekai wo kaishaku shiyou to suru... "People try to interpret the world through a narrow window..."

2 どうなった⁉︎ dou natta!? "What happened!?"

3 見えないみえない mienai "I can't see."

4 遠くに行っちゃったとおくにいっちゃった tooku ni icchatta "They went off far away."

5 理解のできない物事に理由をつくって楽になろうとするりかいのできないものごとにりゆうをつくってらくになろうとする rikai no dekinai monogoto ni riyuu wo tsukutte raku ni narou to suru "They try to make things easier by making up reasons for the things they don't understand."

6-7 おまえは自分の狭い解釈に俺を落とし込みたいだけだおまえはじぶんのせまいかいしゃくにおれをおとしこみたいだけだ omae wa jibun no semai kaishaku ni "You just want to fit me into your own narrow interpretation."

8 見えてんだろみえてんだろ mietendaro "You can see it, right?"

9 俺に"幽霊ども"が見えてるように…OFAを通じて俺の中が… おれに"ゆうれいども"がみえてるように…ワン・フォー・オールをつうじておれのなかが… ore ni "yuurei-domo" ga mieteru you ni...WAN FOO OORU wo tsuujite ore no naka ga... "It's like you ghosts can see me...[see] inside me through One For All..."

10 だから煙の中おまえも俺を捕捉できた… だからけむりのなかおまえもおれをほそくできた… dakara kemuri no naka omae mo ore wo hosoku dekita... "That's why you even were able to catch me in the smoke..."

11 しっかり見ろしっかりみろ shikkari miro "Look carefully."

1 泣いていた少年はもうとっくに乗り超えたないていたしょうねんはもうとっくにのりこえた naite ita shounen wa mou tokku ni norikoeta "The boy who was crying already got over it long ago."

2 どこまでも解釈を拡大しどこまでもかいしゃくをかくだいし doko made mo kaishaku wo kakudai shi "I expanded my interpretation without end,"

3 少年は死柄木弔になった！おれはおれになった！ ore (kanji: shounen) wa ore (kanji: Shigaraki Tomura) ni natta! "and I (read as: the boy) became me (read as: Tomura Shigaraki)!"

4 俺ぁ何も困っちゃいないんだよ！おれぁなにもこまっちゃいないんだよ！ orea nani mo komacchainainda yo! "I am not in any kind of trouble!" (Note: Tomura means he's not a person who needs to be saved from anything.)

5-6 僕はあの子を救けたいぼくはあのこをたすけたい boku wa ano ko wo tasuketai (kanji: sukuetai) I want to save that kid!

1 諦めろあきらめろ akiramero "Give up."

2-3 救いようの無い人間はいるんだよ出久くんすくいようのないにんげんはいるんだよいずくくん sukuiyou no nai ningen wa irunda yo Izuku-kun "There are people who cannot be saved, Izuku-kun."

4 君の掲げたヒーロー観にとってきみのかかげたヒーローかんにとって kimi no kakageta HIIROO kan ni totte When it comes to your views on heroes,

5 こいつは最大の壁でありこいつはさいだいのかべであり koitsu wa saidai no kabe de ari this guy is the biggest wall.

6 超えなくていい壁だこえなくていいかべだ koenakute ii kabe da It's a wall you don't have to climb over.

7 一撃で跡形もなく消すしかないいちげきであとかたもなくけすしかない ichigeki de atokata mo naku kesu shika nai "There's no choice but to erase him with one blow until no trace remains."

8 堪えろ出久くん！こらえろいずくくん！ koraero Izuku-kun! "Bear with it, Izuku-kun!"

9 溜めろ‼︎さっき以上に！ためろ‼︎さっきいじょうに！ tamero!! sakki ijou ni! "[Gather a] stockpile!! Even more than before!"

10 嫌だ… いやだ… iya da... "No..."

11-12 じゃあ何であんな寂しい過去を…心に据えてたんだよ…‼︎ じゃあなんであんなさびしいかこを…こころにすえてたんだよ…‼︎ jaa nande anna sabishii kako wo...kokoro ni suetetanda yo...!! "So then, why [did you fix*] such a lonely past...into your heart...!!" (Note: By "fix" here, Izuku means "place, lay as a foundation." Essentially: "Why is such a lonely past in such a foundational position inside your heart?")

13 蓋を…しただけだろーが… ふたを…しただけだろーが… futa wo...shita dake daroo ga... Literally "A lid...you just put one on, didn't you..." Contextually "You just...covered it all up, didn't you..."

1 守れなかったモンを見ないフリしてまもれなかったモンをみないフリして mamorenakatta MON wo minai FURI shite You pretend not to see those you couldn't protect,

2 傷んだ上から蓋をしていたんだうえからふたをして itanda ue kara futa wo shite and covered up their pain from above. (Note: The official translation of the above two lines is: "You pretended not to see those you couldn't protect and swept their pain under the rug.")

3 その蓋ブッ壊れるまでそのふたブッこわれるまで sono futa BUkkowareru made "Until that cover breaks,"

4 殴るのを止めないなぐるのをやめない naguru no wo yamenai (kanji: tomenai) "I won't stop striking at it."

1 だから dakara "That's why"

2 反対していたんだはんたいしていたんだ hantai shite itanda "I reversed [my stance]."

3-4 "宿敵を救けたい"なんてイカレた幻想に俺たちの歩みを委ねるのか？ "しゅくてきをたすけたい"なんてイカレたげんそうにおれたちのあゆみをゆだねるのか？ "shukuteki wo tasuketai (kanji: sukuetai)" nante IKAREta gensou ni ore-tachi no ayumi wo yudaneru no ka? We’re gonna entrust our footsteps to this crazy fantasy of ‘I want to save our nemesis’?

5 平和ボケした傲慢な考えだとへいわボケしたごうまんなかんがえだと heiwa BOKE shita gouman na kangae da to "It's the arrogant idea of a peace-loving fool."

6 だが裡から見てきてだがうちからみてきて daga uchi kara mite kite But when I began to look within, (Note: It's not clear from these words if Kudou is talking about looking within Izuku or looking within himself. The imagery of the rest of the page could imply that he's looking within Izuku.)

7 わかった wakatta I understood.

8 この少年はこのしょうねんは kono shounen wa This boy

9 縋っているのだとすがっているのだと sugatte iru no da to is one who clings [to others].

10 嫌悪すべき人間だろうとけんおすべきにんげんだろうと ken'o subeki ningen darou to Whether it's a person he should hate

11 無個性の人間だろうとむこせいのにんげんだろうと mukosei no ningen darou to or a person who lacks individuality*, *(Note: This word, mukosei, is the MHA world's term for "quirkless," but whenever it means "quirkless," it is written in quotes in the manga. Here the word is not in quotes, so it should mean what the word mukosei normally means in Japanese: "a lack of personality/individuality." I think here the word may be intended to refer to the other kid with the long fingers who also follows Katsuki around.)

12-13 その奥には等しく人の心があるのだとそのおくにはひとしくひとのこころがあるのだと sono oku ni wa hitoshiku hito no kokoro ga aru no da to he is one who [believes that] deep down people have the same* hearts. *(Note: This sentence is awkward to write out in English because the word "same" is actually an adverb in Japanese, like "similarly, equally." It means something like "All people are equal in that they similarly have human hearts.")

14-15 信じたいのだしんじたいのだ shinjitai no da He is one who wants to trust*. *(Note: This word could also be translated as "wants to believe [in others].") (Update: I now believe this line should be translated as "He is one in whom I want to believe. Please see here for a bit more detail.)

1 …… "......"

2 キレイ事は…嫌いじゃないキレイごとは…きらいじゃない KIREI goto wa...kirai ja nai "I don't hate...such idealism*." (*Note: This word in Japanese literally means "lip service." This is the same word used by All Might (in a flashback) and Mirio in chapter 367 when talking about how heroes have to talk the talk of positive thinking before making those ideals into a reality.)

3 今から俺の言う通りにしろいまからおれのいうとおりにしろ ima kara ore no iu toori ni shiro "From now on, do as I say."

4 おまえに賭けるよ９代目おまえにかけるよ９だいめ omae ni kakeru yo 9daime "[I'll] bet on you, Ninth."

5 OFAを手放すんだワン・フォー・オールをてばなすんだ WAN FOO OORU wo tebanasunda Let go of One For All.

tagline ２代目の秘策ーーーしかしそれは… ２だいめのひさくーーーしかしそれは… 2daime no hisaku---shikashi sore wa... The Second's secret plan--but that...

#my hero academia leak translations #mha 412 #bnha 412 #my hero academia manga spoilers #final arc spoilers #insert loopy tags that reveal my silly thoughts here #nah #i'll save it for the metas #<3

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gravity-between-us · 4 months ago

Text

Gravity Between Us

Chapter 6: Ghosts in the Machine

Summary: Caleb and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. We were once childhood friends, our bond as natural as the stars in the sky. But now, everything has changed. What used to feel like a safe, familiar orbit between us now pulses with unspoken desire.

Our friendship is no longer enough to keep the tension at bay, and the distance between us feels unbearable. Secrets, lies, and unhealed wounds stand in our way. I don’t know if we can survive this new gravity pulling us together... but I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to try.

Pairing: Female! MC x Caleb

Spoilers: Spoilers for Caleb's Myth's as well as memories. Read at your own risk for these. Lore spoilers.

WARNINGS:

Unlikely to be completely canon. The other love interests will not be likely to appear in this fic.

MC is named. MC is socially awkward. MC can be depressed at times.

Very? Slow Burn.

Very explicit smut (Chapter 12 onward): PiV/oral (male and female receiving)/anal sex. Fingering. First time. Pet names (angel, babe, baby, pip-squeak). Kinks: Praise, breeding, creampie, light dom/sub. Rough. Some consensual degradation talk (MC is into it). Probably many, many more that I am forgetting to name. If you see one that should be listed that isn't, feel free to let me know. (MC is a repressed deviant, and so is Caleb.)

Awkward blend of darker moments, angst, fluff, and humour.

Drinking. Questionable life decisions. MC spirals.

Protective Caleb. Both MC and Caleb are a little obsessive and overly protective of each other, which could be considered an unhealthy relationship.

We will revisit memory scenes, but they will be different from the memories in-game.

As proofread as I can get it, but not beta read, so probably some mistakes.

Limited plot - most focus is just on their relationship and interactions.

More warnings could be applied, but as a general rule of thumb, please read at your own risk and do not continue if you find the content triggering.

A flash of dull metal catches my eye in the corner of the room. It’s an old computer, long since corroded. The screen is cracked, the keyboard half-detached, and most of its components are fried, but there’s something wedged into the side—an old memory chip, still embedded in the port.

I hesitate for a moment before pulling it free. The casing is brittle, and I half expect it to crumble in my fingers. Somehow, it stays intact. I don’t have high hopes, but I slide the chip into my Hunter’s watch anyway. The device hums as it processes the data, flickering between corrupted strings of code. A small holographic display appears above my wrist, lines of text streaming too fast for me to catch.

Data corruption detected. Unable to fully recover contents. Processing partial retrieval...

The loading bar crawls forward, stalling, flickering, and then finally stabilizing. The chip contains a distorted audio file that appears, and I press play.

At first, there’s nothing but static, hissing and popping like a broken transmission, but eventually, a voice crackles through.

“—progress remains stagnant. I had hoped for better results by now, but these things take time. Time we may not have.”

Dead air follows, dragging long enough that I think the recording is over until—

“The Evol subjects remain unpredictable. They manifest in ways we still cannot fully categorize. Standard classifications are becoming obsolete. Some variations are so rare they border on singularities. How do you account for something entirely unique?”

The static swallows the voice again, distorting it into an unrecognizable garble before it cuts back in.

“The human body was never meant to house these modifications. The integration—too volatile. Too many failures. And yet, the directive remains clear. We must succeed.”

Succeed in what? The recording doesn’t say. There’s more static, more silence before the log cuts out completely.

I frown. Evol subjects? Modifications? That sounds eerily similar to what some of the Fleet members were talking about before.

My mind spins with questions I can’t answer as I press on. The next door I find is heavier than the others—reinforced metal that groans when I push it open.

The lights spurt to life the moment I step inside. Unlike the rest of the facility, this room still has power.

Rows of monitors line the walls, their screens humming as they boot up one by one. Some display old system code, lines of text scrolling too fast to follow. Others flash distorted security footage, cycling through different angles of the concrete room I saw earlier—the one with the chairs and restraints. The cameras stutter, static swallowing the feed before they blink back on.

In the corner, something bigger comes online. A mainframe. The technology is old, clunky, and obsolete, but still, its lights flicker awake like eyes opening in the dark, small blinking indicators pulsing in sequence.

A dashboard stretches across the central console, dozens of buttons flashing, some staying steadily lit. I brush debris away, revealing more controls beneath the dust and grime.

The main screen in the centre flicks on at last, white text blinking against a black background:

VERIFY IDENTITY.

There’s no login prompt. No password field. No access codes. Nothing I can brute force. I chew my lip, considering my options. It’s a long shot, but maybe—

I lift my hand over the dashboard, focusing on the hum of the system. If I can attune myself to its wavelength, I might be able to overload it. As soon as I channel my Evol, the machine reacts.

The screen explodes with scrolling code, numbers, and sequences flashing too fast to comprehend. The entire system beeps, lights bursting in rapid succession. Then, a robotic voice resounds from the speakers:

“Backdoor mainframe access initiated. Scanning. Please wait. Running backup protocols.”

I jerk my hand back, my heart hammering. The computer continues processing, text scrolling faster. At last—

“Welcome back, A-01.”

I stare at the screen. A-01? That means nothing to me. But at the same time—it does. It feels familiar, though I have no idea why. The screen blinks, waiting for input.

I start testing commands. “What is this place?”

“Sorry. Command not recognized.”

“Who built this facility?”

“Sorry. Command not recognized.”

“What is Project A-01?”

“Sorry. Command not recognized.”

I try one more. “Bring up backup data logs.”

The system hesitates.

“Warning. Backup data severely corrupted. Partial files available. Displaying accessible entries.”

A list of audio logs appears. No dates. No timestamps. No identifying markers.

I select the first one. A voice filters through the speakers, and my blood runs cold. It’s Gran. She sounds younger, but I recognize her immediately.

“Dr. Josephine, lead experimental researcher on Project X-Aether.”

The log plays on.

At first, she sounds excited. She talks about breakthroughs. Progress. How they are on the precipice of the extraordinary. With each successive log, her tone shifts.

“We lost Subject 1 again today. Managed to revive them in time, but we can’t keep pushing this threshold indefinitely.”

“Subject 2’s aggression toward staff continues to escalate. We may need to increase reprogramming efforts.”

“Subject 2 withstands pain beyond projected limits. The threshold is… unnatural.”

“An unexpected development. Subjects 1 and 2 have bonded. No matter how many times Subject 2 is reprogrammed to hate Subject 1, it never seems to stick.”

“We pitted them against each other. Subject 2—who never accepts defeat—lost. Deliberately. Despite knowing the consequences.”

The final entry is a video log. It’s barely visible—static, distortion, the image warping in and out—but I can still see her.

She looks exhausted. Shadows under her eyes. Her voice is softer now, almost resigned.

“They were meant to be weapons. Fail-safes against each other. But we have created something else entirely.” She exhales a shaky breath, as if laughing—or maybe crying. “Together, they are the ultimate weapon.”

The video stutters, glitching into bursts of static as Gran suddenly rises from her desk. The movement knocks the camera askew, tilting the angle so that half the screen is swallowed in shadow. On the desk, half-obscured by a mess of scattered notes and old equipment, is a single framed picture. Two small figures stand frozen in time, but the distortion in the footage makes it impossible to make out any details.

My chest tightens as I take a slow step forward, then another. The glow of the monitor washes over my hands as I reach out, eyes narrowing in an attempt to sharpen the image. Just as I lean in, the screen cuts to black.

The robotic voice crackles to life, emotionless and cold.

“Remote access detected. Identity verification: denied. Data purge initiated. Self-destruction sequence engaged.”

My stomach plummets.

“No, no, no—override command!” My fingers fly across the panel, searching for anything I can use to stop it, but the system has already locked me out. The only thing responding is the damn robotic voice.

“Command revoked. All non-administrative access denied.”

Then, another voice buzzes over the speakers, low and full of restrained fury. “Whoever you are, you’ve made a grave error.”

“Caleb? Caleb, it’s me!” He doesn’t hear me. The alarm blares. A deafening wail that shakes the walls and drills straight into my skull. The countdown begins in the same monotone voice, far too calm for what it announces.

“Please evacuate. Five minutes until self-destruct.”

The feed cuts.

Shit.

Adrenaline slams into me like a shockwave, and I’m already moving. My boots scrape against the debris as I whirl toward the door. Five minutes. Five minutes to get back up through all the wreckage, the collapsed hallways, the flooded passageways—

I push the thought down and run, throwing myself through the door, ignoring the sting of fresh scrapes as I squeeze through the narrow gap. My flashlight bounces wildly in my grip as I sprint down the hallway, my boots skidding on the slick floor.

The metal stairs leading up are warped and rusted, but I take them two at a time, hands slamming against the railing to keep myself upright.

There is a shift above me—a groan of metal, the building crying out in its final death throes. I don’t have time to look up before part of the ceiling collapses, sending a cascade of debris crashing down. I hurl myself sideways, barely avoiding being crushed. Dust and rust clog my throat as I cough, blinking through the haze.

A jagged piece of rebar has torn into my sleeve, slicing through my forearm. I grit my teeth and yank free, hot blood trickling down to my wrist.

No time. No time to stop.

I keep moving, crawling over fallen beams and shattered glass. The halls twist and turn, too many of them looking the same in the emergency lights. I nearly take a wrong turn before spotting a rusted sign pointing back toward the exit. My ankle twinges from an earlier misstep, but I push through the pain, forcing my legs to carry me faster.

The ground quakes beneath me, the facility’s foundations giving way. My breath comes in ragged gasps. The stairwell is up ahead, just beyond a room I hadn’t noticed before. The door is half-open, revealing a large diagram pinned to the far wall.

A human body. Strange, intricate markings cover the skin. I shouldn’t stop. I don’t have time, but my gut screams at me to grab it. I dart inside, snatching the fragile paper from the wall. My fingers smear blood across the edges, but I don’t let go.

The sirens grow louder, the countdown reaching its final minute. A violent tremor rocks the ground, sending me sprawling. The main exit is ahead, but a chunk of ceiling drops between me and salvation. Smoke, dust, and fire rise in its place.

No way forward. No way back.

Adrenaline drowns out reason. I spot an air vent, rusted but large enough. I throw myself at it, kicking at the grating until it gives way. The tunnel is narrow, my shoulders scraping against jagged edges, but I force myself through, dragging my body toward the faintest sliver of light ahead.

The final countdown echoes behind me.

Five. Four.

A wave of heat sears my back, the explosion catching up to me.

Three. Two.

I see the exit. A breath away.

One.

A cacophony of fire and destruction erupts behind me. The force propels me forward, sending me tumbling into the open, onto the cold, damp ground outside.

I lay there, chest heaving, pain screaming through every nerve. Smoke curls into the night sky, the ruins of the facility crumbling in on itself. The diagram crinkles in my grip as I shove it into my backpack. My fingers fumble with the zipper, slick with sweat, and the moment it’s secured, I push myself upright only for my ankle to buckle beneath me.

Pain lances up my leg, sharp enough to drag a hiss from between my teeth. I slam a hand against the nearest tree, using it to keep myself steady. The smoke curling from the crater stings my eyes, reducing everything to shifting shadows and hazy light.

Without the hatch as a landmark, I have no sense of direction. The stars should be visible, but the thick black haze chokes them out, leaving the sky an empty, suffocating void.

Grumbling under my breath, I dig into my pocket and pull out my phone. The cracked screen stares back at me, dark and useless. At some point during my escape, it must have taken a fatal hit.

“Great.”

I try my Hunter’s watch next, but the charge is too low to connect to a satellite. It lets out a weak, static-filled buzz before giving up entirely.

The smoke is sinking into my lungs, coating my throat with its acrid bite. I pick a direction at random, hoping I’ll come across something—one of the marked trees, a shift in the terrain, anything.

Limping forward, each step sends a fresh jolt of pain through my ankle. The ground is uneven, scattered with loose stones and fallen branches, and every misstep threatens to send me sprawling.

I walk for what feels like forever with still no sign of the marked trees to orientate me or any other signs leading to my car.

A shiver prickles at the back of my neck. The hair on my arms stands on end, a static-like charge humming beneath my skin. The air shifts, wrong in a way that makes my stomach drop. The Metaflux comes before my watch can even bleat out a warning.

My fingers tighten around the straps of my backpack, and I listen. Somewhere in the dark, just beyond the reach of my flashlight, they materialize.

The underbrush rustles—a soft, unnatural sound, like something brushing against reality itself. Then another, from a different direction. The air distorts, carrying the scent of damp earth and something sickly sweet, something that makes my teeth itch.

I can’t see them yet, but I know they’re there, and there’s more than one. Heart hammering, I reach for my guns. The air is thick with that wrongness, the kind that makes my skin crawl and my instincts scream. I flick on my flashlight, sweeping it across the trees.

The beam catches nothing but shifting shadows. Then, a shimmer in the dark, a distortion of space like heat warping the air.

Lurkers.

Not the worst I could be dealing with, but not ideal—not with my ankle the way it is. Lurkers are fast, almost imperceptible when they move, their bodies blending into the environment like a mirage. They won’t stay hidden forever, though. Once they strike, they have to fully materialize.

I adjust my stance. If they’re going to attack, I need to make them do it on my terms. I flick my flashlight off, plunging the forest into near-total darkness.

Silence.

A heartbeat.

The first one lunges. I pivot, planting my good foot into the dirt, and fire twice the second I catch the shimmer of its form breaking into the physical plane. My bullets slam into its chest, the impact sending it reeling back with a sickening, gurgling shriek.

The second one is faster. I feel it before I see it—air shifting at my back. I twist at the last second, narrowly avoiding its claws as they slice through the space I just occupied. Pain flares in my ankle as I land hard, but I grit my teeth, ignoring it.

I whip my gun around and fire at point-blank range.

One. Two. Three shots.

The Lurker hisses, its form flickering erratically before it collapses, twitching, into the dirt. A blur of movement allows me to spot a third one.

I drop low, just barely dodging as it rakes claws where my throat was a second ago. I roll, ignoring the way my ankle screams in protest, and come up on one knee. The moment I see the distortion break—I shoot.

With a snarl, it fully materializes—tall, emaciated, crystal-like skin stretched too tight over its bones, eyes like empty voids.

The air crackles around me, thick with the scent of burning ozone and charred metal. My chest rises and falls in shallow gasps, adrenaline roaring through my veins as I brace myself for the next attack.

It lunges. I twist, barely avoiding the serrated edge of the blade as I drive my fist into its ribs. Pain flares up my arm, but I don’t stop. Another comes at me from the left, and I duck.

A claw clamps around my wrist. My pulse jumps as an eerie shimmer distorts the air around us. The Wanderer snarls something incomprehensible, and then—

I fall.

No—

I am pulled.

The world stretches and twists, ribbons of colour bleeding into endless black. I try to move, to fight, but my body is weightless, unmoored from gravity itself. My breath catches in my throat. There’s no ground beneath me, no sky above. Just the boundless, infinite void.

A mirage of deep blues and shifting violets ripples around me, as if the universe itself is breathing. Stars glimmer in the distance, pulsing like dying embers. Long, shimmering bands of silver stretch out in all directions, weaving in and out of existence, never solid, never still.

The vastness of it is suffocating—I have no control, no direction. I am a speck, adrift in an ocean of time and light.

Then I see a plane, floating just as aimlessly as I am. It’s impossible, and yet it’s there, suspended in the nothingness. The hull is scratched, the metal dull beneath the eerie glow of the void.

I can’t see inside; the cockpit is fogged over, warning lights flickering in frantic bursts across the instrument panel.

My stomach twists. Someone is inside. I reach out instinctively. My fingers brush cold metal, and I grasp onto the wing, pulling myself closer. It’s harder than it should be—every movement feels sluggish, like I’m wading through thick, invisible currents. Hand over hand, I make my way toward the cockpit.

I press my face against the glass. At first, I see nothing but the ghostly reflection of the tunnel’s shifting light. Then, through the haze, I make out a slumped figure in the pilot’s seat.

Caleb.

His head is resting against the glass, his face partially obscured by shadows. His chest barely moves. Blood stains the fabric of his shirt, blooming darkly along the collar. I bang my fist against the glass, panic lancing through me.

“Caleb!”

No sound. My voice is swallowed by the void.

“Caleb, wake up!”

He doesn’t stir. I bang again, harder this time, my other hand still gripping the wing as if letting go will make this nightmare real. But is it real? Or just some cruel trick of the Metaflux?

I don’t know. I don’t care. All I know is that I can’t watch him die.

Not again.

Tears sting my eyes. I have to get out of here. I have to kill the Wanderer that dragged me into this abyss, but to do that, I have to leave him behind.

I can’t.

I won’t.

My fingers tighten against the cockpit’s edge, knuckles turning white. I stare at him, at the rise and fall of his breath—faint, too faint—and I make a choice.

I am getting him out of here. One way or another.

The Wanderer drifts in the void, its form shifting, tendrils of darkness curling and unfurling as if it can taste my fear. I need to lure it out—force it into a fight where I have a chance. But how do you fight when there is no ground, no up or down, no way to brace yourself?

“Come on,” I mutter. “Show yourself.”

The void around me pulses like a heartbeat, slow and methodical. Out of the vast nothing, a distortion ripples the space in front of me. The Wanderer shifts, coiling in and out of sight.

I grab onto the plane’s wing, using it as leverage, twisting my body so I can face it head-on. It moves like liquid shadow, slipping in and out of my vision. I need it to come closer.

I slam my fist against the plane’s surface. The metal clangs, the sound instantly swallowed by the void, but the Wanderer notices.

It writhes forward, tendrils reaching. I wait. Wait until it is just close enough—

Then I launch myself at it. The moment my fingers make contact with the inky mass, pain lances through my body. It burns, like frostbite and fire wrapped into one.

My grip falters, but I grit my teeth and tighten my hold. The Wanderer writhes, its shifting form making it impossible to pin down. It lashes out, one of its tendrils cutting into my side, and I bite back a scream.

I won’t let it win.

With a snarl, I draw the knife strapped to my thigh and plunge it into the Wanderer’s core. It lets out a soundless scream, its body convulsing. I twist the blade, pushing deeper, and finally, the thing splinters apart like glass shattering in zero gravity.

Everything vanishes in an instant.

I’m on my back, staring up at a canopy of trees. My breathing is ragged, and the weight of reality slams into me. The forest is silent around me. No plane. No void.

No Caleb.

I push myself up, wincing at the sharp sting in my side where the Wanderer cut me. The wound is still there. It was real, or real enough. I scan the area, but there’s no sign of what I just saw.

With shaking hands, I make my way through the trees, my steps slow and shambling. The forest feels too still and too empty. I keep expecting the plane to be there, expecting Caleb to still be slumped in that cockpit, but there is nothing.

By the time I reach my car, my limbs are trembling. I slide into the driver’s seat and grip the wheel, trying to steady myself. My mind is a storm, circling the same thought over and over.

Caleb said he was in specialized training when he disappeared for months. I never questioned it. Never pushed him for details. But now… now I’m not so sure.

The dashboard interface lights up when I start my car, and I scroll through my contacts until I find Gideon’s name.

The line rings once. Twice. Then a groggy voice picks up. “Inara?” Gideon sounds half-asleep. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Gideon.” My voice is tight. “Caleb’s training—when he disappeared for months. Was it real?”

There’s a pause. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Inara, come on. I don’t—”

“Gideon.” My patience is razor-thin. “Did he lie to me?”

Another pause. It stretches long enough that I know the answer before he even speaks. When he does, it’s careful, too measured. “Caleb… he did what he had to do.”

My stomach twists. “So it was a lie.”

“Inara—”

I end the call before he can say anything else. I grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. My heart pounds in my chest.

If Caleb lied about that… what else has he lied about?

Chapter Masterlist

Since Caleb's new Myth is out, I am once again wishing everyone good luck in their pulls. I know I need it. 🤣

Good luck everyone! 🍀🤞🏻

#caleb lads #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x mc #lads caleb #lads fanfic #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #caleb fluff #lads smut #lnds caleb #Gravity Between Us

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mooglemarauder · 4 months ago

Text

Just In Time

Little writing experiment where the Turks find Zack and Cloud just in time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Between calls, they were tuned into the military line. The updates came in less and less. Distressed troopers calling in for backup that wouldn't come. On one hand, there was hope with the target still fighting back. On the other, it was horrifying getting update after update of the hits he was taking.

As the rain picked up, they thought of calling the whole things off. It was dangerous, and visibility was shit.

They all hear it when the final transmission came in.

Target eliminated. Returning to base.

Everything seemed to stop.

It took everything to keep her hands steady on the helicopters controller. The Whirring of the blade sounded more muffled against the pounding in her ears. There was no way she heard that right. They had to still have time. It must be the wrong radio line , or-

“Shit…” She heard Reno hiss on the radio, followed by what sounded like a fist slamming on the top of the control dashboard.“…FUCKING hell…”

So she did hear it correctly.

They failed.

“…Well…what do you want us to do now, director?” Rude asked as the next to manage to find their voice, though it sounded more shaky than his usual controlled demeanor.

It took even longer for Tseng to respond.

“Run cleanup. I want any equipment recovered.” Tseng finally ordered on the intercom. Clean and quick. Nothing extra.

Cissnei swallowed down the sting forming in her throat and responded “Got it” and went back to scanning the muddy ground.

It felt wrong. She had seen Shinra chew people up and spit them out countless times, but this time it felt wrong. Zack was so earnest. He fought so hard. He had cleaned up Shinra’s messes so many times, and for what? To get swept away himself? It all felt so wrong.

She breathed.

Emotions would have to wait until they were on the ground.

“Targets sighted…Heading down to recover equipment.” Rude communicated on the intercom.

“Heading to your coordinates now.” Cissnei replied and started heading in their direction.

Just on the edge of Midgar. She tried to rationalize it in her mind. Even if he managed to make it, even in the slums, Shinra would have found him eventually.

“Geeze, this place is a battlefield. If you wanted recovered equipment, there’s plenty of empty missile shells…” Reno mused over the intercom.

They had been listening in as wave after wave was sent to take Zack out. Seeing the numbers assigned was different than seeing the bodies lost on the battlefield.

“Hey…who the hell is that blond kid?” Reno asked on the intercom.”…I thought they said all targets eliminated?”

“Blond…The other escaped test subject?” Cissnei questioned but she may as well have been talking to herself. Someone left their radio on leading to footsteps and stray breaths and gasps being sent through to her headset.

“…There's no way…”Rude sounded breathless.

“…What's happening? Talk to me.” Cissnei requested while struggling to keep her focus in steering.

“What the- shit- SHIT! HE’S STILL ALIVE!!” Renos voice burst through the intercom, followed by noises of scrambled fumbling and hurried steps.

“Cissnei, we need backup. Now.” Rude spoke over Reno’s panicked voice in the background, telling someone to “hang in there”.

“I’m on my way!” She responded, and booked it.

The helicopter tilted forward as the tips of Midgar came into view. From the window, discarded equipment littered the ground. A sea of helmets, guns, and blood stretched on and on. Countless lives Shinra threw away to take their own.

And there they were.

Just on the edge of Midgar.

It would have been scenic, if it weren't for the corpses leading to the cliff.

Cissnei practically tripped on the way out of her chopper. Rude was applying pressure to wounds while Reno was using most of the potions and panacea’s they brought. Cloud sat next to them in a haze. He didn't have any strength to offer Rude, but his hand was held tightly around Zacks.

Cissnei reported the situation to Tseng. Orders were made to head to medical immediately, private rooms would be ready under fake names.

There wasn't any time to waste.

Cissnei and Rude prepped Zack onto a stretcher to be transported. He groaned and coughed when they lifted him, barely getting the blood in his lungs out.

His eyes flickered open and Cissnei met them. Zack struggled to focus on her face. She tried to shield his eyes from the rain.

“Ciss…how?…”He choked out between gasps.

“Zack, stay with us. You’re going to be ok.” She reassured him, and also herself.

A shaky hand found Cissnei’s where she held onto the stretcher handles.

“Keep him safe…keep Cloud safe…” Was weakly asked.

“We will Zack, and we’ll keep you safe too. Just hang in there!” Cissnei kept encouraging. That felt like the right thing to do.

Zack groaned again as they lifted up the stretcher to head for the chopper. Cloud stumbled forward as they moved, still holding onto Zacks hand. Or maybe, Zack was still holding onto Clouds?

“Zzz-…Zzzack…”The boy mumbled, unable to tear himself away.

Rude gave Reno a look, and the latter wordlessly circled around the group to steady Cloud as they walked through the rainy mud.

“We’ve got him, Blondie. Let's get you two out of here, yeah?” Reno said to Cloud who barely acknowledged him.

Cissnei landed close enough, but every step still felt too long. Every raindrop felt too heavy. Every strained breadth and stutter from Zack came too long in-between.

Eventually, somehow, they did thankfully make it.

Zack was carefully transferred inside, and with some maneuvering, Cloud was strapped in still holding onto Zacks bullet ridden body. They’d have to do scans to see the full extent of the damage at medical, but that would be for the doctors to decide what needed attention first.

Their job was just to get him there.

Reno and Rude apparently decided that Rude would drive Cissnei’s chopper while she kept an eye on the passengers, and Reno would follow them later after clean up. Rude gave Zack’s foot a pat before heading to the driver's seat. Reno pointed in the window with a sly “You’d better make sure I have someone to bring that heavy ass sword back to” before sliding the door closed.

Cissnei knocked on the cockpit door, and the helicopter lifted up for takeoff. Cloud made a few upset noises as he was jostled in his seat. Cissnei kept her hand on Zack's chest to feel his slow strained breadth. His eyes creaked open and found hers.

"You...found us..."Zack said weakly.

Just barely" Cissnei replied. "You gave us all a scare."

"Sorry....Didn't mean to..."Zack gasped out and closed his eyes again.

"Zack...are you still with me?" She asked, not wanting him to loose consciousness before they made it to Midgar.

"Mhmmm?..."He mumbled out. He deserved to sleep, more than anyone. But she had to get him there.

"Hey Zack, I need you to keep your eyes open until we get to Midgar, ok?" Cissnei requested, but only got a few tired gasps from him. She had to sweeten the deal.

"If you do...I'll tell you my real name."

That got his eyes open.

"Dang...you Turks...drive a hard bargain..." His words were shaky, but he managed to give her a half smile under the blood and grime smeared on his face.

Cissnei let herself sigh.

It would be a long ride to Midgar, but at least they made it just in time.

#ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy vii #cloud strife #final fantasy 7 #zack fair #the turks #cissnei ff7 #reno ff7 #rude ff7 #zack lives au #moogle writing

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areyoufuckingcrazy · 3 months ago

Text

“Red and Loyal” pt.3

Commander Fox x Senator Reader

Three weeks later.

The map table was flickering again, a small glitch from overuse. Red dots pulsed across the countryside—each one marking a loss. Small towns. Villages. Agricultural hubs. All hit hard and fast by Separatist forces. Civilians displaced. Some never accounted for.

The capital was still untouched. For now.

But it felt like waiting for the axe to fall.

You stood at the balcony of the palace’s war room, overlooking the city streets far below. From here, everything looked calm—citizens moving about their day, guards stationed at checkpoints, air traffic kept low and tight. But the mood had shifted.

The fear was no longer quiet.

It was loud now. Angry. Restless.

“I hear them,” you murmured, mostly to yourself. “They want blood. Answers. Safety. And I don’t know how much longer I can promise any of it.”

“You’re not the only one they’re looking to.”

Fox’s voice was low as he approached from behind. You didn’t turn around, but the sound of his boots—heavy, deliberate—was familiar now. Comforting in a way you’d never admit aloud.

“You’ve been visible,” he continued, standing just beside you, close enough that your arm almost brushed his. “At food drops. Patrols. Hospitals. You’ve given them hope.”

You laughed under your breath, bitter. “Hope doesn’t stop blasters.”

“Neither does silence.”

You finally turned your head toward him. His helmet was clipped to his belt, his expression stony but sharp. Exhausted. He hadn’t slept much lately. Neither had you.

“Fox…” you hesitated. “How long do we have?”

He didn’t sugarcoat it.

“They’ve started moving artillery through the passes. Droids are massing just outside the western hills. A few days, maybe. A week if we’re lucky.”

You swallowed hard, throat dry. “And the Senate?”

“No word.”

You nodded stiffly, the weight of it all crashing again onto your chest. The silence that followed was too heavy. Too full of what you couldn’t say.

“Can I ask you something?” you said softly.

Fox didn’t respond, but you felt his attention shift to you completely.

“If I die here… does that make me foolish? Or brave?”

He looked at you for a long moment, eyes unreadable.

“Both.”

You stared back at him. The shadows under his eyes. The scar just beneath his jaw. The faint tremor in his hand before he clenched it into a fist.

You wanted to reach for him. You didn’t.

He turned his head back to the city below. “I won’t let that happen.”

You believed him.

And for a moment, that was enough.

⸻

The command centre was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the flickering holoprojector and the red glow of the city’s early warning system now running constant cycles.

You stood at the far end of the war room, watching the tactical updates scroll—one after another. Probes spotted at the city’s outer rim. Civilian clusters evacuating from rural holdouts. Streets quieter than they’d ever been.

Everyone knew.

The siege was hours away. Maybe less.

Fox was across the room, standing still with his hands clasped behind his back as a secure holo-comm crackled to life. Thire, Stone, and Hound were all there too—helmeted, silent, braced.

“Transmission confirmed,” the clone technician said. “Republic command, direct line.”

Fox’s lips pressed into a thin line as the Chancellor’s insignia bloomed across the console.

And then, the voice. Cold. Controlled.

“Commander Fox.”

He straightened. “Chancellor Palpatine, sir.”

“I’ve been monitoring the situation. I regret to inform you that the Senate cannot afford to lose one of Coruscant’s most vital protection divisions in a conflict that, regrettably, has not yet reached high-priority status.”

Fox’s jaw tensed. “With respect, sir—the capital will fall without additional defense. Civilians will die.”

“I understand your concern, Commander,” the Chancellor said, his tone maddeningly calm. “But this assignment was temporary. A symbol of good faith. It was never intended to put the Coruscant Guard in direct engagement.”

Fox didn’t reply, but his silence was heavy.

“You will return to Coruscant immediately,” Palpatine continued. “This is not a request. That planet will not survive your deaths. And Coruscant cannot afford to lose you. Do you understand?”

Fox looked down, his voice tightly controlled.

“…Understood, sir.”

The transmission ended in a cold flicker.

The silence that followed was thunderous.

You approached the group, confusion written across your face. “What was that?”

Fox turned toward you, his expression unreadable. “Orders. We’re being recalled.”

You stared at him, stunned. “What?”

Thire shifted uneasily. Stone looked away.

You shook your head, a storm rising behind your eyes. “You can’t leave. We’re hours from a siege, Fox. The entire reason you were here was to protect the capital—”

“And we did,” he said quietly. “We bought you time. We held the line as long as they’d allow.”

“No,” you snapped. “Don’t you dare throw that excuse at me like it’s enough. You stood in front of my people. You promised—you promised me—”

He flinched. The others turned away, giving you both a sliver of privacy that barely mattered now.

“I didn’t want this,” he said, voice rough. “But my duty is to Coruscant. I don’t get to choose where I’m sent. You know that.”

You stared at him, the weight of three weeks—the fights, the hope, the unspoken words—crushing all at once. “Then you should’ve never come at all.”

Fox looked like you’d shot him.

You turned away before he could see your eyes burn. Before he could see the betrayal written so clearly across your face. “Go, then. Follow your duty. I hope it keeps you warm when this place burns.”

He didn’t stop you when you walked away.

But you didn’t see the way his hand twitched at his side, like he was reaching for you without permission. Or the pain etched deep into his face—one he’d never show anyone else.

Not even you.

⸻

The landing pad on Coruscant was too clean.

Too quiet.

Too sterile, after weeks of war-scarred dirt and the sound of air raid sirens pulsing in the background like a heartbeat.

Fox disembarked first, helmet in hand, his armor dusted with soot and ash that felt wrong here—wrong against the smooth marble of the Senate platforms. Behind him, Thire, Stone, and Hound followed, silent at first.

Until the doors of the hangar slid closed and that silence exploded.

“What the hell was that?” Stone barked, ripping off his helmet and throwing it to the ground. “We abandoned them.”

“We followed orders,” Fox snapped back.

“Screw the orders,” Hound growled. “You saw what was coming. That planet was going to fall within the week.”

“And we were told we’re too valuable to risk,” Thire added, bitter. “So we just… left.”

Fox’s teeth ground together. “We are not generals. We don’t decide where we go—we enforce.”

“Yeah?” Stone stepped forward, chest tight with frustration. “Then why do you look like someone ripped your heart out, Fox?”

That shut him up.

For a moment.

He turned on his heel, walking out before he said something he’d regret, the echo of his boots trailing behind him like guilt.

Fox didn’t knock. He just walked straight into Commander Thorn’s office, where the younger clone was still suited up and tinkering with the power cell on his blaster.

Thorn looked up and didn’t miss a beat. “Well, well. If it isn’t the Chancellor’s golden leash.”

Fox closed the door behind him. “I need five minutes without sarcasm.”

Thorn shrugged. “Tough. You came to me.”

Fox exhaled, leaning against the far wall, arms folded tight. “I left a city to burn.”

Thorn paused, finally looking up.

“Wanna run that by me again?”

Fox’s jaw clenched. “I got pulled off a world about to be sieged. The Senator begged for help. The Chancellor ordered us back before the shooting even started.”

Thorn set his blaster down slowly.

“You obeyed, didn’t you?”

“What else could I do?”

“I don’t know,” Thorn said, voice low. “Maybe not leave a planet full of civilians to die?”

Fox glared. “You think I had a choice?”

“No,” Thorn said bluntly. “But I think you wanted one. And that’s the difference.”

Fox looked away. “She—she trusted me. And I—”

“You failed her,” Thorn finished for him. “Yeah. You did.”

The air between them thickened.

But then Thorn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You know what makes you a good commander, Fox? You actually give a damn. But you bury it so deep under regs and orders and rules that you forget you’re a person too. You feel this because you should. And because, maybe for once, you met someone who made you wish you could choose.”

Fox didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

“You’re not wrong for caring,” Thorn continued. “But don’t pretend like you didn’t want to stay. Don’t pretend like she didn’t get under your skin. And don’t stand here looking for absolution. You left. And now you have to decide what the hell you’re gonna do about it.”

Fox stood in the quiet for a long time, every breath in his lungs feeling heavier than the last.

Finally, he turned toward the door.

“…Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Thorn said. “Just don’t come crying when you decide to fight for something and it breaks your damn heart.”

⸻

The sky was the color of copper—burning, cracked, smothered in the black breath of war.

From the high balcony of Parliament House, you stood alone.

Below you, the capital city was crumbling. Buildings gutted. Smoke spiraling into the sky like dying prayers. The sounds of explosions echoed from every district—shelling, droid fire, the crackling whine of buildings collapsing into themselves. Your people screamed. And still, you stood.

You could’ve run.

The secret passage beneath the archives still functioned—your aides had begged you to use it. But you refused.

You would not crawl underground while your planet fell above.

When the droids stormed the Parliament, you were still there. You stood at the center of the marble chamber, hands behind your back, your senate robes torn from smoke and grime, your face fierce and unyielding.

The lead tactical droid analyzed you with a flick of its sensor.

“Senator. You are now under the protection of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.”

You didn’t move. “Protection?”

“Your system has been liberated. You will broadcast a message of cooperation to your people. Effective immediately.”

The words felt like venom in your ears.

Two commando droids grabbed your arms, steering you toward the chamber’s grand podium, where your world had once debated laws and trade, justice and reform.

Now it was a prison.

The cameras were already activated. A live broadcast.

You felt the script shoved into your hand—hollow lines written by cowards and liars.

The lights came on.

You stepped up.

Paused.

And dropped the script to the floor.

The droids moved slightly, weapons shifting, but the lead tactical droid gestured for them to wait. Curious. Watching.

You faced the camera.

And then you spoke.

“To the people of this world, hear me now. I stand before you not in surrender, but in defiance. The Separatists believe they have conquered us. That they can break our spirits with fear, and claim our loyalty with fire. But I am still standing.”

You stepped forward, voice rising, the smoke of your burning city curling in the background.

“We did not ask for this war. We did not invite their tyranny. And yet, they came. They scorched our homes. They threatened our children. And now they want us to kneel.”

You stared directly into the lens.

“I will not kneel.”

The tactical droid twitched. Several battle droids raised their blasters—but still, the broadcast continued.

“I may wear chains. I may stand here in a city torn apart. But I will never speak lies to you. I will never call this invasion a liberation. I will never call these machines saviors. The Separatists have not freed us. They have invaded us.”

You were trembling, but you didn’t stop.

“If I die for these words, so be it. At least I’ll die with my people. Not above them.”

You turned away from the camera. “Cut the feed.”

The droids surged forward. One struck you across the face with a metal hand and forced you to your knees.

Blood dripped from your mouth as the tactical droid loomed over you.

“That was not the message we authorized.”

You lifted your chin, defiant even through the pain.

“I suppose I never was good at following scripts.”

The broadcast ended in static.

⸻

The Senate Rotunda roared with outrage.

Holograms flickered across the great chamber—smoke-streaked ruins, the burning capital, and her face, bloodied but proud, replaying over and over again on the center display. The audio was muted now, but they didn’t need the words anymore.

They’d all heard them.

“I will not kneel.”

Senators shouted over one another.

Some demanded sanctions. Others accused the Separatists of war crimes. More still wanted a closed-door meeting with the Chancellor. No one could agree on a solution, but all could agree on one thing:

She had become a problem—and a symbol.

And not one easily silenced.

High above the Senate floor, in the polished marble halls outside the observation balconies, Fox stood alone.

Helmet under his arm.

Watching.

He hadn’t moved since the footage aired. His brothers had gathered at first—Thire, Stone, Hound—but one by one, they’d left when the noise of politics drowned out the only voice that had mattered.

Fox hadn’t left.

He couldn’t.

There she was—her image replaying again, defiant and brave, speaking through blood and fire. Unflinching. Unbroken.

The same woman who had pressed a drink into his hand weeks ago and called him loyal like it meant something.

“She didn’t even blink,” a voice murmured from behind him.

Fox turned slightly. Senator Bail Organa now stood beside him, face solemn.

“She knew what they’d do,” Organa continued, quietly. “And she said it anyway. She looked into that camera and chose truth.”

Fox nodded once. “She stood taller than half the Senate ever has.”

Organa’s mouth tightened. “And now she’s their problem.”

“She’s more than that,” Fox said. His voice was rougher than he intended. “She’s… a symbol now. Maybe even a martyr.”

Bail glanced over at him.

“You care for her.”

Fox didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked for a moment before he said, simply, “I failed her.”

“Not yet,” Organa said gently. “But if you let them forget her—then you do.”

Fox’s gaze drifted back to the flickering hologram of her battered face, eyes burning with conviction, voice ringing in his memory:

“I may wear chains… but I will never speak lies to you.”

If she burned for her people, Fox swore to himself then, he’d make sure the whole damn Republic saw the smoke.

⸻

The cell was white.

Too white. Not a single crack in the walls, not a scratch on the durasteel floor. No windows. No noise beyond the hum of distant generators and the quiet, steady pulse of a camera in the corner.

The Separatists called it a holding chamber.

You called it what it was: a cage.

They hadn’t touched you since the broadcast. Not physically. But the rest—they brought in food and left it untouched for days. They pumped the room full of lights that never dimmed. They brought silence and then the cloying pressure of recorded crowds chanting in a language you didn’t understand. Propaganda blasted in short bursts.

Then came the requests.

The offers.

A comfortable suite. Clothing. Protection. Return to your position of influence, they said. All you had to do was cooperate. Just read the lines. Tell your people that you saw the light. That the Republic abandoned them, and the Confederacy was your new salvation.

You said nothing.

Then they sent him in.

A pale, smooth-faced Neimoidian with manicured nails and a reek of expensive spice. He wore a smile that felt like a threat. He sat across from you at a metal table, fingers laced.

“We do not wish for things to escalate,” he said softly. “The Confederacy values your intellect. Your leadership. Your charisma. You could do so much more if you simply stepped into the right light.”

You stared at him. “There is no light in this place.”

He didn’t lose the smile. “Then create it. Say the words, Senator. Bring peace to your people. Your world is lost to the Republic, but it doesn’t have to be lost to you.”

You leaned forward, voice low and sharp. “Peace bought with a muzzle isn’t peace. It’s obedience. And I don’t bend.”

The Neimoidian’s smile faltered.

“You still believe someone’s coming to save you?” he asked.

You didn’t respond.

“Very well.” He stood and adjusted the sleeves of his robe. “Then we will bring peace another way.”

⸻

You were dragged from your cell two days later.

Paraded through the cracked halls of Parliament, bound in chains.

Droids stood at attention along the corridor. Their red photoreceptors blinked in time with the hollow clank of your boots. Outside, you heard the drone of ships overhead and the dull, distant panic of the crowd being herded into the city square.

The Separatists had arranged an audience.

A warning.

They wanted your execution public.

You were led up the stone steps of the Parliament balcony—the same one where you had stood and broadcast your defiance.

Now, a platform had been raised.

A guillotine of shimmering energy.

A podium to record your final words.

The tactical droid turned to you as the crowd began to hush.

“Final opportunity. Comply. Kneel, and you live.”

You lifted your chin. The chains bit into your wrists. “I will never kneel.”

The crowd heard you.

They remembered.

The city remembered.

Even if the Republic forgot you… even if no one came…

You would die standing.

⸻

The war room on Coruscant was filled with fire.

Not literal flame, but political heat—raw and heavy.

Three Jedi stood in the center, flanked by holograms of the burning capital city, the Separatist’s mock trial preparations, and one final, damning image:

The Senator, shackled and unbowed, standing before her people, moments before execution.

Chancellor Palpatine’s fingers steepled beneath his chin, unreadable as ever. But the furrow in his brow deepened with each word.

Mace Windu’s voice cut like a vibroblade. “This is no longer a matter of planetary resources. It’s a moral failure of the Senate—and of this office.”

Luminara Unduli, serene but stern, added, “We allowed this to happen by remaining neutral. The Senator stood for peace. For integrity. And she is being made an example for her courage.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi, arms crossed, took a step forward. “We know where they’re holding her. The capital has not fallen beyond reach. With your authorization, Chancellor, the 212th can retake it. But we must act now.”

Palpatine’s gaze slid to the flickering hologram again. The city in flames. The people in chains. Her.

He sighed, slowly. “I underestimated the impact of her voice. Perhaps… we all did.”

There was silence.

Then, finally, the Chancellor’s voice rose with forced calm.

“You have your clearance, General Kenobi. Regain control of the planet. Retrieve the Senator. Do not allow her execution to proceed.”

Obi-Wan nodded sharply. “We’ll leave within the hour.”

In the shadows near the back of the chamber, Fox stood silent.

Helmet tucked under his arm, armor polished to discipline, but his jaw clenched tightly. His brothers were gone—scattered after their forced withdrawal—but Fox had stayed. Had watched. Had listened. Had waited.

Beside him stood Commander Cody, arms folded, face grim beneath the overhead lights.

Fox didn’t look over when he spoke, just said, low and bitter, “Took them long enough.”

Cody’s voice was just as quiet. “Politics always move slower than war.”

Fox huffed. “She should never have been left alone. Not like that.”

“She wasn’t,” Cody said.

That made Fox turn.

Cody finally looked over, steady and sure. “You stayed. You remembered. And I’ll make sure she comes home.”

Fox’s lips parted, words catching in his throat.

Cody gave him a small, knowing nod.

“I’ll bring her back, vod. You have my word.”

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